She disregarded the brazen hint and proceeded to reprimand. "It's time for you to cut out this 'sister' business. I might stand for it once in awhile but you have a chronic case of it. You took a spin yesterday which is going to make us intimate acquaintances for some time." "Oh death, where is thy sting?" he interjected. Perfectly oblivious to his remark, she continued, "It will be better, particularly for you, if our acquaintance is a pleasant one. You will call me--Miss Knight--Mr. Curtis," she intimated with a grave dignity which the wayward blonde curls beneath her cap did not loyally support. "'Night, sable goddess, from ebon throne descends,'" he quoted with dramatic emphasis. "Do you furnish breakfast as well as lectures on behavior in this hospital?" She retired with great hauteur between smiling masculine eyes to the end of the ward. Suddenly, she whirled and waved her hand at the injured one, and, as if addressing an old and intimate friend, called, "You can have your breakfast in a minute, Joe." In his apartment above the garage at the Dale home, Ike was awakened by the shrill alarm of an electric bell rung from a button pressed by Serena in the comfort of her own bed. Thus he arose betimes of necessity, rather than from personal desire to salute the rising sun. Breathing deeply, the spirit of the morning entered into the chauffeur's veins as he watched a couple of fat robins enjoying a breakfast of elastic worms pulled from the moist earth. Lifting his voice in muffled song, he ran the big car out of the garage, and, opening its bonnet, reclined on the radiator and lazily looked at the engine. Like a high priestess veiled in clouds of incense while engaged in holy mysteries, Serena moved about her kitchen in the midst of appetizing odors, preparing coffee, frying ham and cooking waffles for the morning refreshment of the Dales. Now, as if such dainties were insufficient, she brought forth another skillet and put diverse parts of a fowl therein, and with skilled, fork-armed hand shifted them about until they sissled and hissed and fried. The morning breeze faintly wafted pleasing odors to Ike. They assailed his nostrils delightfully. He breathed yet a little deeper and sang yet a little louder. Closing the bonnet, he climbed into a seat that he might, in pleasant anticipation, rest from labor. Suddenly, there came to him a more delicious scent. He sniffed in disbelief that fate could be so kind, but his experienced olfactory nerves reassured him. In such matters, they could not err. "Chicken!" He sniffed and sought appropriate outlet for joy. With a roar which shook the early peace of the neighborhood as a salute of artillery, Ike raced the engine of the machine and in the midst of this diabolical furore, he sang a paean of joy.