“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, yes, bath. No—don't bother—I mean, I'll take it myself. You needn't watch me.”
“Certainly not, sir. Thank you, sir. There have been several telephone calls for you, sir.”
Oliver sighs—he is really awake now—it will be less trouble to get up than to try and go back to sleep. Besides, if he tries, that brass-buttoned automaton in front of him will probably start shaking him gently in its well-trained English way.
“Telephone calls? Who telephone-called?”
“The name was Crowe, sir. The lady who was calling said she would call again around lunch time. She said you were to be sure to wait until she called, sir.”
“Oh, yes, certainly.” Politely, “And now I think I'll get up, if you don't mind?”
“Oh, no, sir,” rather scandalizedly. “You are in need of nothing, sir?”
Oliver thinks of replying, “Oh, just bring me a little more sleep if you have it in the house,” but then thinks better of it.
“No, thanks.”