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“If convenient,” I snagger, “I prefer my picnic in my bedroom where there is only one leak.”

“Shall not do!” she howell. “Your lung require fresh air Thursday.”

“My lung feel plenty fresh already,” I insure.

“O boneless Japanese!” she retork. “Why should I be continuously thoughtful for your convenience? Why should I treat you gently like a horse when you stand there and kick my kindness back in my face?”

Bang door. She popp away.

When dishes was entirely washed off I retire upwards to my room with my mind full of vacation. This department where I slept was neat room for Japanese, but too small for Swedes. What should I do with this enclosed Thursday? Sleep, perhapsly, and enjoy a few nightmares by daylight? This seem too inappropriate. What then should I?

I set on bed opposite bursted portrait of Hon. Geo. W. Washington while watching drop-drip of rain falling into wash-bowl. Pretty soonly I uprose and lock door.

How should I be amused? Then, of suddenly, I think it. Music! That are considered most fashionable indoor exercise for jaded fatigue. So I open up trunk and got out following implements: