Burns nodded. “Keep cool, boy,” he recommended. “No use getting excited before a critical operation.”
But he disappeared at a pace fast enough to satisfy Chester, who sat back and said to himself that R. P. had come nearer giving the crisis before him its appropriate name than he had ever heard done before.
He became anxious again, however, before Burns returned, and his watch was in his hand when the prospective bridegroom bolted out of the hospital door and ran for his car as if he had not a moment to spare.
“Glad to see you're losing your head a trifle at last,” commented Chester as the Imp turned a dizzy curve and shot away. “It's the only proper thing. But we've really enough time if you don't stop anywhere else. What's the matter? Good Lord, man, you'll get nabbed if you speed up like this within limits. You—”
“Cut it and don't talk. I've got to make time,” was all the answer or explanation he received; and Chester, with the wisdom of long association with Red Pepper at his pepperest, obeyed.
As they approached the house Burns spoke for the first time since they had left the city. “Go in and tell the bunch I have to do an operation at the hospital as quick as I can get my stuff and drive back there. I'll be back at—”
“Great Christopher, man! But—”
“I can be back by two. Ellen will understand.”
“The deuce she will! Don't ask me to explain to her.”
“I won't. I'll do it myself. You tell the rest.”