"Pajamas!" said the man.

"My pajamas!" said the Secretary.

"They look like a Chinaman's Sunday trousers--yes?"

The Secretary looked into the pitiless faces of the multitude which was
gazing into his trunk, but they handed him nothing save small bunches of
laughter.

"Come!" said the man, "where is the Chink that goes with this wearing
apparel? Did you hear over the wireless system about the labor strikes
and try to smuggle in some cheap labor?"

"I assure you that I wear those pajamas myself!" said the Secretary,
interrupting a sob in his throat.

"You wear these pajamas? When? Why? Where?"

"In the secrecy of my boudoir," said the Secretary.

"Aha!" said the man, "so you have some boudoir, too! Bad business! bad
business! I have never heard of a Boudoir Trust, therefore, we do not
make such a thing in this country. My suspicions are getting louder.
What is in this bottle?"

"That is my cough medicine," said the Secretary, giving a sample of the
cough.

"It may be wine or cream de mint because your voice sounds nervous."