out of condition, like ninety-nine per cent of men to-day."

"I'm not so young as I was, ma'am," protested George. "When I was in
the harmy I was a fine figure of a man."

"The more shame to you that you have allowed yourself to deteriorate,"
commented Mrs. Porter. "Beer?"

A grateful smile irradiated George's face.

"Thank you, ma'am. It's very kind of you, ma'am. I don't mind if I do."

"The man appears a perfect imbecile," said Mrs. Porter, turning
abruptly to Kirk. "I ask him if he attributes his physical decay to
beer and he babbles."

"I think he thought you were offering him a drink," suggested Kirk. "As
a matter of fact, a little brandy wouldn't hurt him, after the shock he
has had."

"On no account. The worst thing possible."

"This isn't your lucky day, George," said Kirk. "Well, I guess I'll
phone to the doctor."

"Quite unnecessary."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Entirely unnecessary. I have made an examination. There is practically