why you don't apply something cooling to your feverish temper.
You have to live with yourself all the time, you know, and,
occasionally, it must be very difficult. A rag, now, wet in cold
water, and tied around your neck--have you ever tried that? It's
said to be very good."

"I have one on now," she answered, with apparent seriousness,
"only you can't see it under my ribbon. It's getting dry and I
think I'd better hurry home to wet it again, don't you?"

Winfield laughed joyously. "You'll do," he said.

Before they were half up the hill, they were on good terms again.
"I don't want to go home, do you?" he asked.

"Home? I have no home--I'm only a poor working girl."

"Oh, what would this be with music! I can see it now! Ladies and
gentlemen, with your kind permission, I will endeavour to give
you a little song of my own composition, entitled:'Why Has the
Working Girl No Home!'"

"You haven't my permission, and you're a wretch."

"I am," he admitted, cheerfully, "moreover, I'm a worm in the
dust."

"I don't like worms."

"Then you'll have to learn."