"Two broken ribs," he said; "scratch on his arm. Now we'll take him home. He'll probably yell over the bumps, but I judge the yells will do him good. Where's his companion? Send another car for her, or take her along?"
"Send for her," said Stuyvesant.
"No," disagreed Cecilia, "if you don't mind, we'll take her. I think it would be better." Stuyvesant looked annoyed, but sent the oily proprietor to call the lady of the shook-up-nerves. She descended immediately, wrapped in a large fur coat, and with a cerise motor scarf about her head. "I couldn't get no rest," she called; "I'm all fussy. How's Jacky darling?"
"She isn't going with us?" said John at the top of the stairs. He stopped and leaned heavily on Stuyvesant. "My God!" he exploded. "Stuyv, she can't! Celie can't meet her! She can't! Tell her we'll send a car. I don't want Celie to see her."
"They've been talking for half an hour," said Stuyvesant. "Your sister insists on taking her in."
"Oh, Lord!" said John. "Oh, Lord!"
"Come along!" said Stuyvesant roughly.
"I really thought I was dying," said John in a shamed way.
"Shut up!" ordered Stuyvesant. "You make me sick!" They went down with no more conversation.
"How are you, dear?" asked Cecilia.