on the electric heater to take the chill from the spare-room. The
little pads of their paws were ice-cold, and he filled the hot
water bottle and held it carefully to their twelve feet. Their
pink stomachs throbbed, and at first he feared they were dying.
"They must not die!" he said fiercely. "If they did, it would be
a matter for the police, and no end of trouble."

Fuji came up with the milk, and looked very grave when he saw the
muddy footprints on the clean sheet.

"Now, Fuji," said Gissing, "do you suppose they can lap, or will
we have to pour it down?"

In spite of his superior manner, Fuji was a good fellow in an
emergency. It was he who suggested the fountain-pen filler. They
washed the ink out of it, and used it to drip the hot
brandy-and-milk down the puppies' throats. Their noses, which had
been icy, suddenly became very hot and dry. Gissing feared a
fever and thought their temperatures should be taken.

"The only thermometer we have," he said, "is the one on the
porch, with the mercury split in two. I don't suppose that would
do. Have you a clinical thermometer, Fuji?"

Fuji felt that his employer was making too much fuss over the
matter.

"No, sir," he said firmly. "They are quite all right. A good
sleep will revive them. They will be as fit as possible in the
morning."