"Oh, no--really--I don't think so," crooned little Eve Edgarton.

With the faintest possible tinge of reluctance she put down her
papers, picked up the lantern, and, crawling over to where Barton
lay, sat down cross-legged again on the ground beside him, and began
with mechanically alternate fist and palm to rubadubdub and
thump-thump-thump and stroke-stroke-stroke his utterly helpless
body.

"Oh--of--course--you've had--an awfully close call!" she drummed
resonantly upon his apathetic chest. "But I've seen--three lightning
people--a lot worse off than you!" she kneaded reassuringly into his
insensate neck-muscles. "And--they--came out of it--all right--after a
few days!" she slapped mercilessly into his faintly conscious sides.

Very slowly, very sluggishly, as his circulation quickened again, a
horrid suspicion began to stir in Barton's mind; but it took him a
long time to voice the suspicion in anything as loud and public as
words.

"Miss--Edgarton!" he plunged at last quite precipitately. "Miss
Edgarton! Do I seem to have--any shirt on?"

"No, you don't seem to, exactly, Mr. Barton," conceded little Eve
Edgarton. "And your skin--"

From head to foot Barton's whole body strained and twisted in a futile
effort to raise himself to at least one elbow. "Why, I'm stripped to
my waist!" he stammered in real horror.