“‘WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH YOU?’ ROARED THE COLONEL”
“Oh, nothing,” said Henry Burns, resignedly. “It’s nothing.”
The colonel little realized how much of truthfulness there was in this answer.
“Did you want me for anything?” asked Henry Burns, in his softest voice.
“No, I didn’t,” said the colonel, sullenly. “Somebody has been fooling with my lamps, and I—I thought I would use yours, if you didn’t mind.”
“Certainly,” replied Henry Burns. “I may not need mine again for the rest of the night.” Again he pressed his hand dismally to his forehead.
“I won’t take it!” snapped the colonel. “You may need it again. Why don’t you tell Mrs. Carlin you’ve got a headache? She’ll look after you. It’s eating too much—eating too much, that does it. I’ve always said it. Stop stuffing two pieces of pie every day at dinner, and you won’t have any headache.”
With this parting injunction, the irate colonel abruptly took his departure, slamming the door behind him.
Henry Burns dived beneath the bedclothes and smothered his roars of laughter. The colonel, disappointed in his quest for a lamp, and not caring to search further in his present condition of undress, returned once more to his room and finished undressing in the dark.