"My pajamas!" said the Secretary.

   "They look like a Chinaman's Sunday trousers—yes?"

   The Secretary looked into the pitiless faces of the multitude which was gazing into his trunk, but they handed him nothing save small bunches of laughter.

   "Come!" said the man, "where is the Chink that goes with this wearing apparel? Did you hear over the wireless

   system about the labor strikes and try to smuggle in some cheap labor?"

   "I assure you that I wear those pajamas myself!" said the Secretary, interrupting a sob in his throat.

   "You wear these pajamas? When? Why? Where?"

   "In the secrecy of my boudoir," said the Secretary.

   "Aha!" said the man, "so you have some boudoir, too! Bad business! bad business! I have never heard of a Boudoir Trust, therefore, we do not make such a thing in this country. My suspicions are getting louder. What is in this bottle?"

   "That is my cough medicine," said the Secretary, giving a sample of the cough.

   "It may be wine or cream de mint because your voice sounds nervous."

   "I am nervous because the world is still giggling at my pajamas," said the Secretary.

   "Back to the pajamas! Bad business! bad business! I will have to dig a tunnel through your neckties to see if you have a

    cafe au lait

   or a

    cafe chanteuse

   in the trunk. When a man gets nervous it is always wise to watch him. Open your mouth!"

   The Secretary did so.

   "What have you been drinking?"

 Prev. P 14/56 next