“Your sister? By No. 1? You don't say! Why, I never thought your sister—by No. 1, eh?”
“Yes, by No. 1.”
“Say, Doc,” said the hotel man, breaking into the conversation. “There's a bunch of 'em comin' in, ain't there? Who's the lady you was expectin' yourself on No. 1?”
“Lady?” said Cameron. “What's this, Martin?”
“Me? Wake up, Connolly, you're walking in your sleep,” violently signaling to the hotel man.
“Oh, it won't do, Martin,” said Cameron with grave concern. “You may as well own up. Who is it? Come. By Jove! What? A blush? And on that asbestos cheek? Something here, sure enough.”
“Oh, rot, Cameron! Connolly is a well-known somnambulist.”
“Sure thing!” said Connolly. “Is it catchin,' for I guess you had the same thing last night?”
“Connolly, you've gone batty! You need a nurse.”
“A nurse? Maybe so. Maybe so. But I guess you've got to the point where you need a preacher. Ha! ha! Got you that time, Doc!” laughed the hotel man, winking at Cameron.