“Oh, dear me!” he cried. “I'm so sorry. Of course, of course. I BEG your pardon, Cousin Gussie.”
He hindered a little more than he helped with the removal of the coat and then stood, with the garment in his arms, peering over the heap of fur like a spectacled prairie-dog peeping out of a hole.
“Ah—sit down, sit down, please,” he begged. “I—ah—please do.”
Again Martha interrupted. “Here, let me take that coat, Mr. Bangs,” she said, and took it forthwith. Galusha, coming to himself still more, remembered the conventionalities.
“Oh, Miss Phipps,” he cried, “may I introduce my—ah—cousin, Mr. Cabot. Mr. Cabot, this is the lady who has taken charge of me, so to speak.”
Both Martha and Cabot burst out laughing.
“That sounds as if I had arrested him, doesn't it?” observed the former. “But it is all right, Mr. Cabot; I've only taken him to board.”
“I understand. Well, unless he has changed a lot since I used to know him, he needs some one to take charge of him. And it agrees with him, too. Why, Loosh, I thought you were an invalid; you look like a football player. Oh, pardon me, Miss Phipps, but don't trouble to take that coat away. I can stay only a little while. My chauffeur is waiting outside and I must get on to the hotel or I'll be late for dinner.”
Martha, who was on her way to the hall and the coat rack, turned. “Hotel?” she repeated. “What hotel, Mr. Cabot?”
“Why, the Something-or-other House over in the next town. The Robbins House, is it? Something like that.”