“Then,” said Peter, flaring up with a righteous passion that made him feel suddenly like the hero of his own new play—“then I'll go straight to Zanin and force him to declare himself! I will face him, as man to man!”
Thus the two Seventh-Story Men!
At moments, during the few weeks just past, thoughts of his anonymous letter had risen to disturb Peter; on each occasion, until to-night, to be instantly overwhelmed by the buoyant egotism that always justified Peter to himself. But the thoughts had been there. They had kept him from attempts to see Sue, had even restrained him from appearing where there was likelihood of her seeing him; and they had kept him excited about her. Now they rose again in unsuspected strength. Of course she would refuse to see him! He slept hardly at all that night. The next day he was unstrung. And Saturday night (or early Sunday morning) when Hy crept in, Peter, in pajamas, all lights out, was sitting by the window nursing a headache, staring out with smarting eyeballs at the empty Square.
“Worm here?” asked Hy guardedly.
“Asleep.”
Hy lighted the gas; then looked closely at the wretched Peter.
“Look here, my son,” he said then, “you need sleep.”
“Sleep”—muttered Peter, “good God!”
“Yes, I know, but you've got a delicate job on your hands. It'll take expert handling. You've got to be fit.”
“Did you—did you see Sue?”