Bob McGibbon rose up, put on coat and hat, took, Henry firmly by the arm, and marched him, protesting, home.
'Now,' he said, 'you go to bed.'
'Sure, Bob! What's the matter with you! I'm just going to jot down a few notes———'
'You're going to bed!' said McGibbon.
And he stood there, earnest, even grim, until Henry was undressed and stretched out peacefully asleep.'
Henry slept until nearly three o'clock Saturday afternoon.
8
Senator Watt laid down the Gleaner, took off his glasses, removed an unlighted cigar from his mouth, and said, in his low, slightly husky voice:—
'A really remarkable piece of work. Quite worthy of Kipling.' The nineties, as we have already remarked, belong to Kipling. Outright. He had to be mentioned. 'It is fresh, vivid, and remarkably condensed. The author produces his effects with a sure swift stroke of the brush.'
The Senator rarely spoke. When he did it was always in these measured, solid sentences, as if his words might be heard round the world and therefore must be chosen with infinite care. After delivering himself of this opinion he resumed his 'dry smoke' and reached for the Evening Post, which lay folded back to the financial page.