“Eh—er—what? Who is it?” he cried, starting up in bed.
“Can I come in?” Arthur’s voice demanded.
Without waiting for a reply, Arthur entered.
Hetzel’s wits getting out of tangle, “What unheard-of event brings you abroad so early?” he inquired.
“Early? You don’t call this early? It’s halfpast seven.”
“Well, that’s a round half hour earlier than I ever knew you to rise before. ’Is any thing the matter? Are you ill?”
“Bosh! I’m always up at half-past seven,” averred Arthur, with brazen indifference to the truth.
He crossed the floor, and sent the curtains screeching aloft; having done which, he established himself in a rocking-chair, facing the window, and rocked to and fro.
“Ah, I—I understand,” said Hetzel.
“Understand what?”