Rockwell himself admitted the house physician, a bald, youngish man, with nose glasses over slightly shifty eyes and a quite unprofessional manner--the manner of a "smart" young business man.
Merriam and Mollie June joined the others for the introductions. These formalities over, Dr. Hobart confirmed the report of Norman's condition which Rockwell had given them over the telephone. He "was getting along all right"--with a sidelong glance at Mollie June--"except for a touch of bronchitis."
Mollie June betrayed an embarrassed uneasiness. Merriam wondered just how much she knew of her husband's whereabouts--of his escapades in general.
"Very well," said Aunt Mary briskly, "you must go right to bed, Mr. Merriam, before some one else comes. You're ill with bronchitis, of course. That scarf was a splendid idea, Alicia, but it was a close shave. We mustn't run any more risks. You will attend him, Dr. Hobart?"
"Of course," said the young physician, evidently much amused. "Mr. Rockwell has told me the story. It's as good as a play. Mr. Merriam--I mean, Senator,--I order you to bed at once."
"Very well," said Merriam and turned towards Senator Norman's bedroom.
"I'll show you where things are," said Rockwell, accompanying him. "I explored a bit last night."
In the bedroom with the door closed behind them, Merriam hesitated.
"Better get your things off at once," said Rockwell, going to the bureau and stooping to open the bottom drawer. "It's nearly ten o'clock," he continued, rummaging. "The reporters will be here any minute. I'm surprised some enterprising chap hasn't arrived already. We'll try to keep them off, of course. But some of those fellows are mighty clever. Here we are--pajamas," he added, pulling out the garments for which he had been searching.
Then he crossed to a closet, from which in a moment he emerged with a bath robe and a pair of bedroom slippers.