“Three cabs and five—or was it six?—jews-harps?” continued Mitchell dreamily. “It must have been six, five for we five, and one for Lord Chesterfield—but where is Lord Chesterfield?” he asked suddenly with a disturbed glance around. “I hope he hasn’t deserted and gone home.”
“Come on, come on!” said Burnett. “There won’t be a sober cab left if we don’t hurry while everything is still able to stand up.”
This reasoning seemed to alarm Mitchell and he went out with him at once.
“My head feels awfully,” said Clover to Jack. “It sort of grinds and grates—does yours?”
Jack stared straight ahead and made no reply.
“I’m goin’ home no more to roam,” said Aunt Mary slowly and sadly,—“I’m goin’ home no more to roam, no more to sin an’ sorrow. I’m goin’ home no more to roam—I’m goin’ home to-morrow. O hum!” She heaved a heavy sigh.
“Now see what you’ve done!” said the parrot with emphasis.
“Never mind,” said Clover bitterly. “Better people than you have gone home before now; I used to do it myself before I was old enough to know worse. Will you excuse me if I say, ‘Damn this buzzing in my head?’”
“I know how you feel,” said Aunt Mary sympathetically. “Don’t you want me to ring for the porter and have him make up your berth right away?”
Clover didn’t seem to hear. His eyes were roving moodily about the room; they looked almost as faded as his mustache.