"Uncle Fred squared his shoulders and threw back his head. 'Probably not,' he said, cuttingly; 'but perhaps you can direct me to some one possessed of some knowledge of this institution.'
"The man glowered at him. 'I'm in charge here,' he said, gruffly.
"Uncle Fred glanced around at us with an expression which said 'Stick to the ship, I'll take her through,' and then he turned back to the man, who was standing with both hands on the desk and looking like Gibraltar. They stared at each other for about a minute; and then Uncle Fred began, very slowly; 'My friend, Miss Eleanor Mills, of Tennessee, informed me to-day that she was here at Foster Hall—this is Foster Hall, I believe?'
"A slow grin overspread the man's face. 'Well—no—not exactly,' he drawled, 'This is the Home for Incurables.'
"I wish you could have seen Uncle Fred's face. He opened and shut his mouth several times before any words came. At last he said, in a little, small voice,—
"'You haven't any room here for me, have you?'
