Pocket shook his head.
“I’m due in Welbeck Street at twelve.”
“Well, I’ll wake you at quarter to, and have a taxi ready at the door. That will give you a good two hours.”
Pocket hesitated, remembering the blessed instantaneous effect of the first bottle under the bush.
“Would you promise to wake me, sir? You’re not going out?”
“I shall be in again.”
“Then it is a promise?”
Pocket would have liked it in black and white.
“Certainly, my young fellow! Is the stuff in your bag?”
It was, and the boy took it with much the same results as overnight. It tasted sweeter and acted quicker; that was the only difference. The skin seemed to tighten on his face. His fingers tingled at the ends It was not at all an unpleasant sensation, especially as the labour in his breast came to an end as if by magic. The faintly foreign accents of Dr. Baumgartner sounded unduly distant in his last words from the open door. It was scarcely shut before the morning’s troubles ceased deliciously in the cosy chair.