"And I'm sick, mighty sick. I'm going to die."
"I think not, sir; the others are sick, too."
"That's good! I was afraid they'd dressed and gone." It was some consolation to know that Ringold and Higgins had not escaped their share of suffering. "How is Hig—the bony fellow?"
"Do you mean the gentleman in thirty-two?"
"How should I know his number? That's not Hig's description, however—even you could tell that he is no gentle—Oh, Lord!"
"Can I get you something, sir—a little champagne, perhaps, to settle your stomach?"
"NO, NO! Get me a taxicab. I want to go up-town."
"Rather a long drive, isn't it?" snickered the bell-boy.
"Never mind the comedy." Anthony opened his eyes. "Hello! Are you the clerk?" Instead of the bell-hop he had expected he beheld a man in white jacket and black trousers.
"No, sir, I'm the steward."