Chester went over to the rail. “He's only just come, you know, Miss Mathewson. You don't have to call him out this minute, do you?”
“I'm sorry, Mr. Chester, but I'm afraid I must. The call is very urgent.”
“Tell 'em to get somebody else.”
“Doctor Burns wouldn't like it—they're special friends of his.”
“Oh, well—I suppose he'll see the bright side of getting out of that Turkish bath in there, but I must say I wish I didn't have to pull through this whole affair without his support,” grumbled Chester as he went in to find Burns, now disappeared into the inner rooms where the music came from.
Red Pepper came out looking the name more than usual, for three rounds of the floor had brought, as it seemed to him, every drop of blood to his face, and his hair clung damply to his brow. He held a brief colloquy with his office nurse.
“No way out; I'll have to go, Ches,” said he with ill-concealed joy.
“But you'll hustle? You'll make one more try of it?” begged Chester. “This thing won't break up early: not with Pauline pushing it. You'll be back in time to be taken out and fed?”
“Try to,” and Burns disappeared off the end of the porch.
“Lucky dog,” gloomed Macauley. “The call's five miles out on the road to the city. I'd like to be in the Green Imp for the spin Red'll make of it. By George! I—”