I produced a nightgown from my brown paper parcel, and placed my clothes at the end of the bed, from whence at intervals they slipped on to the floor, to be recaptured by my groping hand, only to slide off once again. It must have been about two o’clock before the last vacant bed was filled. Downstairs in the kitchen high jinks were in progress; they were singing songs, dancing and generally enjoying life.

“It’s an awful noise, dear, isn’t it?” said the latest comer. She spoke with refinement, so much refinement that she was almost “naice.”

“One does not sleep in such a place as this from choice,” she continued. “I have never been here before but once.”

“It isn’t very comfortable,” I agreed, and watched her divest herself of two coats, two skirts, and other articles of apparel, all in duplicate.