"Don't believe it's time."
"You can look at your watch, if it hasn't stopped running. You never remember to wind it. Have you wound it this morning?"
The drummer fumbled under his pillow for the watch. It was still running, and stood at eleven minutes after his broth-time. He wound it with the sensitive fingers of the sick. As he did so, he stared ill-temperedly through the window and observed a number of banners waving in the plaza. He broke out:
"Look here! Are they going to have another damn fiesta? What's it for? Good Lord! the time they waste on fiestas!"
At this outbreak the griffe girl stared at him, then wrinkled her freckled snub nose, and went off into such a gust of light-headed giggling that Strawbridge was irritated anew.
"What the hell you whinnying like that for?"
The maid caught up the corner of her apron and stuffed it into her mouth as a mirth-extinguisher. The American received the tray on the side of his bed, glaring at the girl, who plainly was about to burst out laughing again. A sudden plan came to him.
"I'm going to get up," he announced.
The maid was horrified.
"Oh, señor, you are not!"