“Number twanty-three, saxth floor,” he muttered to himself. “I will call, and then we shall see what we shall see; and if what we see gets off wi’oot a thorough ‘hootin’,’ then I dinna ken me beezniss.”
Hastily discarding his outward wrath, and assuming such portions of his garments as went with his society manner, Tammas walked into the lobby of the apartment-house in which his assumed insulter lived. He pushed the electric button in, and shortly a sweet-faced nurse appeared.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Me,” said Lang Tammas, somewhat abashed. “I’ve called too see the head o’ the hoose.”
“I am sorry,” said the trained nurse, bursting into tears, “but the head of the house is at the point of death, sir, and cannot see you until to-morrow. Call around about ten o’clock.”
“Hoots an’ toots!” sighed Lang Tammas. “Canna we Scuts have e’er a story wi’oot somebody leein’ at the point o’ death! It’s most affectin’, but doonricht wearin’ on the constitootion.”
“Was there anything you wished to say to him?” asked the nurse.