"Didn't you really get it?" I asked.

"I'm damned if I did."

"My dear fellow," I said, "you didn't tell us what sort of place
this was; and Carpenter thought it must be a maternity-ward."

The moving picture critic of the Western City "Times" gave me one
wild look; then from his throat there came a sound like the sudden
bleat of a young sheep in pain. It caused Carpenter to start, and
Madame Planchet to start, and for the first time since we entered
the place, the birds of paradise gave signs of life elsewhere than
in the eye-muscles. The sheep gave a second bleat, and then a third,
and Rosythe, red in the face and apparently choking, turned and fled
to the corridor.

Madame Planchet drew me apart and said: "Meester Billee, tell me
something. Ees eet true that thees gentleman ees a healer? He takes
away the pains?"

"He did it for me," I answered.

"He ees vairy handsome, eh, Meester Billee?"

"Yes, that is true."

"I have an idea; eet ees a wondair." She turned to my friend.
"Meester Carpentair, they tell me that you heal the pains. I think
eet would be a vairy fine thing eef you would come to my parlor and
attend the ladies while I give them the permanent wave, and while I