The Return of Alfred

ed the torn and dilapidated condition of Smith's discarded clothing. When, however, he picked up the boots, sodden and encrusted with mud, he blinked several times, as if striving to keep back the tears. Having gathered together the various items of Smith's rain-soaked apparel and placed them on a chair by the door, the butler glanced at the clock, the hands of which pointed to ten minutes past eight. Tip-toeing over to the bed, he stood for a moment gazing down at the apparently sleeping man. "Mr. Alfred, sir," he whispered, "it's ten minutes past eight." "So it isn't a dream after all," yawned Smith, as he sat up and proceeded to stretch luxuriously. "A dream, Mr. Alfred?" repeated Willis. "Yes, that I'm here. I thought it was a dream, you know," and he laughed, a little self-consciously. Willis smiled sympathetically. "It's almost too good to be true, Mr. Alfred," he said. "I'm sorry to wake you, sir. I've put everything ready," he indicated the clothes. "Feeling better?" enquired Smith, mentally registering the opinion that black suited the old man's complexion better than royal blue. "Thank you, Mr. Alfred, I'm all right again now. It was the shock, sir. Would you like me to remain, Mr. Alfred?" "Yes, I want to talk to you," said Smith, springing out of bed; "but I'll have a bath and shave first. Ah!" as his eyes fell upon the tea-tray by the bedside. "It's cold, Mr. Alfred, I'll get some more," and, picking up the tray, Willi...