Madeline was not very credulous. She snapped on the nearest light, so that she might look at the alleged invalid.
One look was enough. She hadn’t lived twenty years without learning something, and she knew at once what ailed the fellow; but she didn’t care. She felt instinctively that he was a victim. He had been led astray, very likely by this burly ruffian with him.
“Poor feller!” she said softly.
His curly head was thrown back, his eyes were closed, and he seemed sunk in innocent slumber. Not only was he singularly handsome and engaging, but he wore a dinner jacket. Never had Madeline seen one so close at hand before. It invested the suffering hero with a high, romantic interest. It thrilled her. He was a creature strayed from another world. He was helpless and abandoned, and not for anything on earth would she have forsaken him.
“I’ll get him some coffee,” she said.
She said it rudely, because she hated the other man, and knew it was all his fault.
There was a little left in the coffee urn, and it was still warm. She brought it promptly, but the sufferer could not be roused to drink.
“Good Lord!” said the other impatiently. “I don’t know what to do with the young idiot! Pour water on him.”
“I never!” cried Madeline, with passion[Pg 94]ate indignation. “And get his nice clothes all wet?”
“Well, do something with him,” said the other. He showed an alarming tendency to shift the responsibility for his unconscious companion to Madeline’s shoulders. “I can’t take him home with me. Lock him in here till the morning, and let him sleep it off!”