My! it was a beastly place--and your poor father--for he _was_ your father--was tossing about and raving, with burning cheeks and huge eyes, just like yours.

Well! I had plenty of money just then, so with the help of that concierge we found a decent lodging--they wasn't so partic'lar then about infection or they didn't think typhoid infectious--I took him there in an ambulance, engaged a nurse, and in a fortnight he was recovering.

He turned out to be a seminarist--I think they called it--from Ireland who was going to be trained for the priesthood at Louvain--lots of Irish used to come there in those days.

And somehow a fit of naughtiness had overcome him--he was only twenty--and he thought he'd like to see a bit of the world.

So he'd sloped from his college and had a bit of a spree at Brussels and Ostende.