The Doctor paced slowly about the room, shaking his aged head doubtfully; while he himself, as Judith continued operation with the powder-puff, all at once began to sneeze.
"By my old head, I do hope I haven't caught it too!" he snapped, withdrawing from Downey anxiously. And then, with sudden decisiveness, "That settles it! I'm afraid I have bad news for you, young man. All our decapitation heroes, as you know, must be in the best physical condition. We can't take the chance of having them contaminate an old head. Our rule is, 'Safety first.' So you see, young man, I am left no choice. I will have to withdraw my recommendation!"
"What?" demanded Downey, rushing toward the Doctor in a wild outburst of joy. "Does that mean I won't be decapitated?"
"Keep away from me!" snarled the Doctor, making a dash toward the door. "Of course it means that! There's no use arguing, either! Henceforth you'll have to earn your living like any ordinary head-wearing citizen!"
As Judith's attendants and the guard withdrew, a startling thought burst over Downey.
"By heaven, Jude," he exclaimed, "how did I happen to get hay-fever already? My death-plaque said it's only May. And you know the fever season doesn't begin till August."
Judith looked up at him with streaming eyes in which a faint light was dawning. "Silly!" she said. "Why do you think I kept rubbing so much powder on my face? Don't you remember, you always used to complain, you were allergic to it, and it made you sneeze so much?"
"Well, thank the Lord for face powder!" cried the rescued man, as he suddenly realized how long and ingeniously the girl had been planning to save him—and realized, also, what such planning implied.
"It is lucky I brought my handbag with me from the twentieth century—and the face powder in it," stated the girl.