I batted at him perplexedly.
"What was that? Scrimmage? I don't remember hearing anything—what's that?"
And I reached for another glass.
"Pardon, sir—" Jenkins' eye shifted unhappily; "but may I ask, sir, what is the last thing you do remember?"
"Eh?"
I sat up a bit straighter, rubbing my head and devilish annoyed at being made to try to think at all. Then I remembered: We were in a jolly blue aëroplane drawn by golden humming-birds and she was just telling me—no, dash it, that was a dream—just a dashed dream! I groaned, dropping my head upon my knees. "Why, the last thing I remember was the punch—punch—"
"Punch—yes, sir!" And Jenkins sighed.
"Your punch to put out the light," I finished. Then I looked at him, startled. "Oh, I say, now, it wasn't burglars, was it?"
You see, I thought at once of Foxy Grandpa and my darling's pajamas.
"Not precisely, sir." Jenkins hesitated; then moved a little nearer. "I—I hope you'll pardon me, Mr. Lightnut, sir; but I can't help a feeling that you ought to know everything before—h'm—I was going to say, sir, before you see the family. I hope you'll pardon me, sir!"—he heaved desperately—"I mean about all that happened last night."