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very unpleasant of him; so he ran around in his bare feet and sore throat,—I mean Job did,—and if he has pneumonia it will be Mr. Herwin's fault, and I shall never forgive him, never. By this time we had begun to walk up and down, up and down, for it was pretty cold standing still to be rained on so, and we splashed across the garden, fighting the gale and running from it,—first this, then that,—we two, I and a man, just as I had done alone. Job splashed after us, in his insufferably adorable, patient way, only the paths were so narrow that Job had to walk chiefly in the box border, which was wetter than anything.

"You had better go into the house," the secretary began.

"I 'm not ready to go into the house."

"You are getting very wet."

That 's what I came out for."

"Sometime you 'll do this once too often."

"I have done it once too often, it seems."

"I meant, you risk pneumonia. It is intolerable."

"It is Job who has pneumonia, not I. Pick him up, won't you? Put him under your mackintosh. He must be sopping. Thank you. Why, thank you! I really did n't think—"

"Don't you really think that I would do anything whatever that you asked me to?"