Ramsey was projecting a conversation between his mother and Milla in
which the latter stated that she and Ramsey were soon to be married;
that she regarded him as already virtually her husband, and demanded to
nurse him.

In a panic he fled from the house before breakfast, going out by way of
a side door, and he crossed back yards and climbed back fences to reach
Albert Paxton the more swiftly. This creature, a ladies' man almost
professionally, was found exercising with an electric iron and a pair of
flannel trousers in a basement laundry, by way of stirring his appetite
for the morning meal.

"See here, Albert," his friend said breathlessly. "I got a favour. I
want you to go over to Milla's--"

"I'm goin' to finish pressin' these trousers," Albert interrupted. "Then
I've got my breakfast to eat."

"Well, you could do this first," said Ramsey, hurriedly. "It wouldn't
hurt you to do me this little favour first. You just slip over and see
Milla for me, if she's up yet, and if she isn't, you better wait around
there till she is, because I want you to tell her I'm a whole lot better
this morning. Tell her I'm pretty near practick'ly all right again,
Albert, and I'll prob'ly write her a note or something right soon--or in
a week or so, anyhow. You tell her--"

"Well, you act pretty funny!" Albert exclaimed, fumbling in the pockets
of his coat. "Why can't you go on over and tell her yourself?"

"I would," said Ramsey. "I'd be perfectly willing to go only I got to