"Goron," said Mr. Korner sternly.

She went on steadily, in a low monotone, broken by stifled sobs. The
dreary rhythm of the repetition may possibly have assisted. As she
mentioned fearfully that nine times eleven were ninety-nine, Miss
Greene pointed stealthily toward the table. Mrs. Korner, glancing up
fearfully, saw that the eyes of her lord and master were closed; heard
the rising snore that issued from his head, resting between the empty
beer-jug and the cruet stand.

"He will be all right," counselled Miss Greene. "You go to bed and
lock yourself in. Harriet and I will see to his breakfast in the
morning. It will be just as well for you to be out of the way."

And Mrs. Korner, only too thankful for some one to tell her what to
do, obeyed in all things.

Toward seven o'clock the sunlight streaming into the room caused Mr.
Korner first to blink, then yawn, then open half an eye.

"Greet the day with a smile," murmured Mr. Korner, sleepily, "and it
will--"

Mr. Korner sat up suddenly and looked about him. This was not bed.
The fragments of a jug and glass lay scattered round his feet. To the
tablecloth an overturned cruet-stand mingled with egg gave colour. A
tingling sensation about his head called for investigation. Mr.
Korner was forced to the conclusion that somebody had been trying to
make a salad of him--somebody with an exceptionally heavy hand for