There was only a dim light in the room behind him. With a glance over his shoulder at the bed where the sick Senator lay--the same bed in which Merriam had played at being sick on the previous afternoon,--he entered the new room and closed the door.
"You've made it!" he said. "Thank Heaven! You weren't seen, Simpson?"
"I think not, sir."
He looked closely at Merriam. "You're tired," he said.
"I sure am."
"Well, so am I. What a day! And to-morrow will be as bad. Maybe worse. Never again will I father an impostor. But we've got to see it through this time. Sit down. Have a cigarette, and tell me what happened at the flat. Then I'll let you go to bed and snatch a few hours' sleep. You must be in fighting trim to-morrow, you know--for the speech!"
Merriam took the proffered cigarette and dropped gratefully into a chair. Rockwell and Simpson also sat down.
"How's Senator Norman?" Merriam asked.
"Sick. Hobart looks serious, but he says he'll pull around in a day or two. He's dosing him heavily. You've simply got to stay by us and play the game until he's on his feet again."
"I suppose so. Well----"