“You g'way!” said the strange voice within the room. “G'way!”
“Well, did the glass cut you?”
“No! Keep quiet! G'way!”
“Well, are you EVER comin' down to your party?”
“Yes, I am! G'way!”
Jane obeyed, and William somehow completed the task upon which he was engaged. Genius had burst forth from his despair; necessity had become a mother again, and William's collar was in place. It was tied there. Under his necktie was a piece of string.
He had lost count of time, but he was frantically aware of its passage; agony was in the thought of so many rich moments frittered away; up-stairs, while Joe Bullitt and Johnnie Watson made hay below. And there was another spur to haste in his fear that the behavior of Mrs. Baxter might not be all that the guest of honor would naturally expect of William's mother. As for Jane, his mind filled with dread; shivers passed over him at intervals.
It was a dismal thing to appear at a “party” (and that his own) in “last summer's suit,” but when he had hastily put it on and faced the mirror, he felt a little better—for three or four seconds. Then he turned to see how the back of it looked.
And collapsed in a chair, moaning.