Pacin' up and down the verandas, like animals in a cage, was about fifty people, and over at one end, all by himself, looms up Old Hickory, lookin' big and ugly and disgusted with life.
"Well!" he growls. "So you got here, eh? Hope you like it as well as I do. Bring that mail inside."
While he's more or less grouchy, he don't act any more like a nervous wreck than usual. I take it that he was some tired when he got up here night before; but that he cut out dinner and turned in for a good twelve-hour snooze instead. Then he's had a quiet day, and I judge he was a lot better already.
He's just got well into his letters, when an attendant guy in a white duck uniform steps in and taps him on the shoulder.
"Well?" says Old Hickory.
"Vesper service is beginning in the chapel, sir," says the gent.
"Let it begin, then," says Mr. Ellins.
"But," says the gent, "it is usual for guests to——"
"It isn't for me!" snaps Mr. Ellins. "You get out!"
And the gent got out.