“I’ll think about this in the morning,” he thought; “but I’m going to get some sleep now—before anything else happens.”
For, coming from the cold of his vigil into this warmth was making him intolerably drowsy. He took off his collar and sat down to remove those objectionable puttees.
As this unprincipled intruder had so coolly taken possession of the bed, he would have to sleep on the couch in the sitting room, but that didn’t trouble him. He felt that he could sleep anywhere, and that nothing—absolutely nothing—could keep him awake ten minutes longer.
A sound from below startled him. Some one was unlocking the door.
In his blind fatigue, he was ready to ignore even that. He didn’t care who came; he wanted to go to sleep.
But he remembered the tiny creature in the bed, the creature who expected his protection, and that roused him. Closing the bedroom door, he went to the head of the stairs, and, in a voice husky with sleep, but distinctly threatening, called out:
“Who’s that?”
“Me,” answered Eddy’s voice.
Even before he saw the boy, Ross was aware that there was something amiss with Eddy tonight. His voice was different; he climbed the stairs so slowly. He came into the sitting room, and flung down the bag he was carrying.
“I’m all in!” he said.