I hurried to the hospital with my prize. The orderlies, not expecting a lady visitor, were in the midst of a Black Jack game. Red and flustered, one lad tried to hide the little heaps of money on the floor by standing on them; I pretended not to see. Yes, they thought it would be all right if I should read to the patients. They went ahead to the ward to announce me. All the cots were full, making sixteen invalids in all. I selected a story—an old favorite, I was sure it would prove irresistible—and started to read. The story tells of an eccentric skipper with a fad for doctoring. One by one, his crew, realizing his weakness, develop mysterious maladies. They are excused from duty, put to bed, petted and cossetted. Finally the mate becomes desperate. He guarantees that he will cure them all; the skipper is sceptical but allows him a free hand. The mate sets to work to compound some “medicine,” a wonderful and fearful brew made of ink, vinegar, kerosene and bilge-water. After a few doses, presto! the crew is hale and hearty once again. I read with all the animation I could muster, and to me the story had never appeared funnier, but try my hardest, I couldn’t seem to “get it over.” Not a chuckle, not a grin lightened my solemn audience. They were utterly, blankly, unresponsive. I began to wonder if it were possible that not one of them could understand English. At last I ended. As I closed the book a whoop of delight went up from the orderlies; “That’s you all over, Johnny!” “Gee, that guy must have wrote that story about you, Slim.” “Say, Miss, can’t you let us have the recipe for that medicine? We need it in our business.” The invalids grinned sulkily. In one awful moment I realized what I had done. “Of course,” I stammered, “this wasn’t meant to have any personal application!” But the mischief was already done. There was nothing to do but to retire with dignity. However, I couldn’t bear to give up my scheme entirely. Today I went again; this time having carefully selected my story. To my astonishment the ward proved empty, all except for three boys who were crouching on the floor shooting craps; I drew back. “Perhaps they would rather not be disturbed.” “They ought to be in bed anyway,” growled the orderly, and chased the patients back to their cots. I read to them; there was no way out of it. They listened politely to the end, but all the while I felt they were longing to resume their interrupted game. Tonight I expressed my surprise over the deserted ward to Captain X. He roared at my innocence. “You didn’t expect to find any fellows in hospital _today_ did you? Why, this is Saturday, and there isn’t any drill tomorrow!” Goncourt, February 18.