The waiters bicker hotly; the counting-room bell rings afar off. There is a smothered cry of "Front!"
"All trains for the East--" comes a monotonous announcement in the corridors.
"Sixty-six! Number sixty-six!" screeches the carriage-crier.
A drunken refrain floats on the air from Wabash avenue:
"We won't go home till morn-i-n-g,
T-i-l-l daylight doth appear."
CHAPTER V
LETTERS OF CONSOLATION
On the Africa David Lockwin loved but one person, and that was David Lockwin.
On this morning after the banquet David Lockwin hates but one person, and that is David Lockwin.
He had lately hungered for somebody more charitable to himself than he himself could be. He had experienced a mean, spiritless happiness in noting the honors which the widow was heaping on his memory. Now he is furiously in love with that widow. He sallies from the hotel in haste to her residence.