"I don't think I ate much, sir," protested Dunstable. "It must have
been what I ate. I went to that new American place."

"So _you_ went there, too? Why, I've just come from attending a
bilious boy in Mr. Seymour's house. He said he had been at the
American place, too."

"Was that Merrett, sir? He was one of the party. We were all bad. We
can't all have eaten too much."

The doctor looked thoughtful.

"H'm. Curious. Very curious. Do you remember what you had?"

"I had some things the man called buckwheat cakes, with some stuff he
said was maple syrup."

"Bah. American trash." The doctor was a staunch Briton, conservative
in his views both on politics and on food. "Why can't you boys eat
good English food? I must tell the headmaster of this. I haven't time
to look after the school if all the boys are going to poison
themselves. You lie still and try to go to sleep, and you'll be right
enough in no time."

But Dunstable did not go to sleep. He stayed awake to interview
Linton, who came to pay him a visit.

"Well," said Linton, looking down at the sufferer with an expression
that was a delicate blend of pity and contempt, "you've made a nice
sort of ass of yourself, haven't you! I don't know if it's any