All this time Frank had not seen his face distinctly, nor did he have an opportunity to do so until the ablutions were ended, and Arthur had rubbed himself with, not one towel, but two, until it seemed as if he must have taken off the skin in places. Then he turned, and running his fingers through his luxuriant hair, which had a habit of curling around his forehead as in his boyhood, looked full at his brother, who saw that he was very pale, and that his eyes were unnaturally large and bright, while there was about him an indescribable something which puzzled Frank a little. It was not altogether the air of foreign travel and cultivation which was so perceptible, but a something else—a restlessness and nervousness of speech and manner as he moved about the room, walking rapidly and gesticulating as he walked.
"You are looking thin and tired. Are you not well?" Frank asked.
"Oh, yes, perfectly well," Arthur replied; "only this infernal heat in my blood, which keeps me up to fever pitch all the time. I shall have to bathe my face again;" and, going a second time to the bowl, he began to throw the water over his face and hands as he had done before.
"I'd like a bath in ice-water," he said, as he began drying himself with a fresh towel. "If I remember right, there is no bath-room on this floor, but I can soon have one built. I intend to throw down the wall between this room and the next, and perhaps the next, so as to have a suite."
The second washing must have cooled him, for there came a change in his manner, and he moved more slowly and spoke with greater deliberation as he asked some questions about the people below.
"Will you come down by and by," Frank said, after having made some explanations with regard to his guests.
"No, you will have to excuse me," Arthur replied. "I am too tired to encounter old acquaintances or make new. I do not believe I could stand old Peterkin, who you say is a millionaire. I suppose you want his influence; your coachman told me you were running for Congress," and Arthur laughed the old merry, musical laugh which Frank remembered so well; then, suddenly changing his tone, he asked: "When does the next train from the East pass the station?"
Frank told him at seven in the morning, and he continued:
"Please send the carriage to meet it. Gretchen will probably be there. She was in the train with me, and should have gotten out when I did, but she must have been asleep and carried by."
"Gr-gr-gretchen! Who is she?" Frank stammered, while the cold sweat began to run down his back.