"Of course," he replied. "At least he took his clothes with him. They're not in his bedroom."
"Well, ask the elevator boy. He'll know when he went out. Hurry up, Thomas. Don't stop to put on a collar. Do hurry—"
"I'm not putting on a collar," came in smothered tones. "I'm putting on a shirt."
He didn't quite have it on when Melissa appeared in the doorway, wide-eyed and excited.
"Uncle Joe has disappeared, ma'am," she chattered. "I can't find hide or hair of him. Did you call, Mr. Bingle, or was it—"
"I called," said Mr. Bingle, getting behind the foot-board of the bed. "Where is he? Did you—"
"I heard him moving about the kitchen about six or half-past. I peeked out of my door, and there he was, all dressed, putting the coffee pot on the stove. I says to him: 'What are you doing there?' and he says: 'I'm getting breakfast, you lazy lummix,' and I says: 'Well, get it, you old bear, 'cause I won't, you can bet on that,'—and went back to bed. Oh, goodness—goodness! I wouldn't ha' said that to him if I'd knowed he—"
"Don't blubber, Melissa," cried Mrs. Bingle. "Ask the elevator boy what time it was when—"
"Hand me my trousers, Mary," shivered Mr. Bingle, "or send Melissa out of the room. I can't—"
"He made himself some coffee and—"