He was awakened at a much later hour than usual the next morning by a vigorous tugging at the shoulder of his pajamas; and, opening one sleepy eye, saw Jim fully dressed standing at the side of his bed.
“Go away and let me sleep,” grumbled Joe, turning over on his pillow for another forty winks.
“For the love of Pete, man! how much sleep do you want?” snorted Jim. “What are you trying to do, forget your sorrows? Here it is after nine o’clock, and I’ve already had my breakfast and a shave. Get a wiggle on and see what it is to be a popular hero.”
“Stop your joshing,” muttered Joe, sleepily.
“Josh nothing,” Jim came back at him. “If you’ll just open those liquid orbs of yours and give this room the once over, you’ll see whether I’m joshing or not.”
This stirred Joe’s curiosity and he sat up in bed with a jerk.
“Great Scott!” he exclaimed, as he saw the room littered with a mass of boxes and packages that covered every available spot on chairs and tables and overflowed to the floor. “Where did you get all this junk? Going to open a department store?”
“I guess you’ll be able to if they keep on coming,” returned Jim. “I’ve been signing receipts for express packages until I’ve got the writer’s cramp. And there’s a pile of letters and telegrams, and there’s a bunch of reporters down in the lobby waiting for an interview with your Royal Highness, and—but what’s the use? Get up, you lazy hulk, and get busy.”
“It surely looks as though it were going to be my busy day,” grinned Joe, as he jumped out of bed and rushed to the shower.
He shaved and dressed in a hurry and then ate a hasty breakfast, after which he saw the reporters.