“It’s Jarvis—that’s what it is!” he exclaimed. “Blest if I didn’t forget all about him! Sit in the dark a minute, will you?” and he turned off the light and went to liberate the captive.
“Nice fellow, you are!” began Jarvis wrathfully when the door was opened. “Lock a man up while you go off and go to sleep——”
Brant broke in with an apology which ran smoothly and without a break until he had walked the reporter down the stair and out into the street. Then he gave Jarvis the required information about the president’s special, and hastened back to Antrim to explain the interruption.
“You see, I had to do something with him,” he concluded. “He is a good fellow, but he talks too much, and the less said about this business of yours the better.”
“I should say so,” agreed Antrim ruefully, adding, “but it’s no use; the whole town must know about it by this time. I haven’t been at it very long, but I haven’t been hiding my light under a bushel.”
“Oh, I don’t know about the publicity. A man doesn’t fill the public eye quite as much as he is apt to think. Besides, you have made your last appearance in the idiotic rôle. Beginning right now, you are going to break it short off and be yourself again. When did you eat last?”
“Supper, last night.”
“Humph! I thought as much. No wonder you had wheels in your head! Let me help you into your overcoat, and we’ll go up to Elitch’s.”
“I don’t believe I could eat anything, if it was to save my life,” objected Antrim, rising laboriously.
“Yes, you can—you have got to; and then you are going to let me take you home and put you to bed; and if we hear of any more foolishness, you will come in for a manhauling that you won’t get over for a week.”