"You poor child," she said, sympathetically, "I'll run and get my husband
and he'll cure it."

She flew back to the room where the eager group had their heads together
over the blue prints and wash drawing of the new color organ. Pushing
in between Iva and Lotta she seized Bill by the arm and said, "hurry up
now--matter of life or death--Polly, the maid--dying--urgent case--"

By that time they were down in the servant's pantry where Polly was moaning
and groaning and wailing like a banshee.

"What is it, my dear?" Big Bill asked, gently, for Polly was a very pretty
girl. "Oh, my ear! It aches and stings and burns and smarts and--"

"That'll do for a beginning," Dr. Petticoat said, rolling up his sleeves
and calling for basins of sterilized water and various antiseptics and
disinfectants.

"Can you do anything, Bill?" Warble asked anxiously, "it isn't ptomaines,
you know."

"That's the devil of it! Why couldn't the silly thing have had a decent bit
of ptomaine poisoning instead of this foolish earache. But, it's more than
an earache! The bally ear has been stung--or something--anything bite you,
Polly?"

"Yes, sir, a wasp."

"She says a wathp!" exclaimed Warble. "Oh, Bill, it may mean blood