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VI
One morning Helen slept through an eight o'clock, so she went to the I nfirmary. She was just in the middle of a story in a Cosmopolitan dated March, 1903, when her name was called. "What is the trouble?" snapped out the nurse. H elen looked blank. "Trouble? Why, none. I just came for my excuse." " I mean what is your illness? Cold?" A sudden light dawned in the remote depths of H elen's consciousness. She was supposed to be sick when she came to the Infirmary! "Why, yes," she stuttered. "A cold? Yes, it's a cold. Yes, l have a cold. Yes, that's what it is. A cold." "H ow long have you had it?" " Just now. T mean since last night. I t came on me sudden- sort of." "Since last night?" "Yes. l had a headache. At least I think it was a headache. My head ached, anyway. My stomach hurt me, too. Oh, and I cou ldn't sleep, either. Yes, I have a pretty bad cold." H elen went in to the doctor. "Let me see your symptoms," said the doctor. "How dare you?" gasped H elen. "I have a cold, sir." "A cold, eh? Well, fix this young lady an orange cocktail." "An orange cocktail?" thought Helen. "My, I'll come here often." The cocktail was brought. Helen drank it greedily, smiled, and gulped suddenly. Her face showed indignation, then severe pain, then utter helplessness. he turned green. "Orange cocktail!" she muttered. " H ah! hah !" said the doctor. "My God!" said Helen.