What
kind of a strange queer creature are you? Have you wings, Mr.
Beetle Man?"
Suddenly she bent over and laid her soft lips upon the scarified
palm. The Unspeakable Perk sat up, with a half-cry.
"Now the other one," said the girl. Her face was a mantle of rose-
color, but her eyes shone.
"I won't! You shan't!"
"The other one!" she commanded imperiously.
"Please, Miss Brewster--"
A noise at the door saved him. There stood Thatcher Brewster,
magnate, multi-millionaire, and master of men, a huge tray in his
hands.
"Beefsteak, fried potatoes, alligator pear, fresh bread, REAL
butter, coffee, AND cake," he proclaimed jovially. "Not to mention
a cocktail, which I compounded with my own skilled hands. Are you
ready, my boy? Go!"
The Unspeakable Perk leaped from his couch.
"Food!" he cried. "Real American food! The perfume of it is a
square meal."
"You're much gladder to see it than you were me," pouted Miss
Polly.
"I'm not half as afraid of it," he admitted. "Mr. Brewster, your
health."
"Here's to you, my boy. Now I'll leave you with your nurse, and
make my final arrangements.
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