Then he bent
forward, clasping his knees, smiled largely, replaced the smile with a
thoughtful frown, and in such wise contemplated the foot of the bed for
several minutes,--his first conscious impression, that he had something
delightful to look forward to yielding to a vague recollection of a
prolonged shrill tintinnabulation--as if the telephone bell in the front
room had been ringing for some time.
But he waited in vain for a repetition of the sound, and eventually
concluded that he had been mistaken; it had been an echo from his dreams,
most likely.
Besides, who should call him up? Not two people knew that he was in town:
not even O'Hagan was aware that he had returned to his rooms that morning.
He gaped again, stretching wide his arms, sat up on the edge of the bed,
and heard the clock strike twelve.
Noon and.... He had an engagement at two! He brightened at the memory and,
jumping up, pressed an electric call-button on the wall. By the time he
had paddled barefoot to the bath-room and turned on the cold-water tap,
O'Hagan's knock summoned him to the hall door.
"Back again, O'Hagan; and in a desperate rush. I'll want you to shave me
and send some telegrams, please. Must be off by one-thirty. You may get out
my grey-striped flannels"--here he paused, calculating his costume with
careful discrimination,--"and a black-striped negligee shirt; grey socks;
russet low shoes; black and white check tie--broad wings. You know where to
find them all?"
"Shure yiss, sor.
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