head.

"Arthur's never so happy as when he's out with Red in the
Green Imp," Winifred said to her guest as the roadster shot
away under the elms which drooped beneath the arc light.

"Doctor Burns is certainly the oddest man I ever saw," replied
the guest, swinging idly in the hammock and watching the car
out of sight down the long vista of the village street. "He
hasn't given me one real good look yet. I suppose if I were a
patient he would favour me with an all-seeing gaze out of
those Irish-Scotch barbarian eyes of his, but as it is" - her
voice was slightly petulant - "I believe I shall have to do as
Arthur has: make up some symptoms and go over to his office."

"If you do you'll get precisely the same treatment I presume
Arthur had." Mrs. Chester laughed as she spoke. "I doubt very
much whether he comes back with any headache medicine."

"But he got a moonlight ride in that beauty of a car," the
guest declared enviously. "That treatment would suit me
wonderfully well, whatever was the matter."

"Would you have gone with him in his shirt-sleeves? He's
plainly in a shirt-sleeve mood to-night."

"I think a drive in the moonlight with a `brute of a saint' in
shirt-sleeves, with arms like those, might be interesting,"
mused the guest, indicating invisible patterns on the porch
with the toe of a white slipper.