"It's time you got back on your job—good night!"
"So long, dear—I'll ring you at the office soon as possible to-morrow morning."
"Take a little nap—why don't you?"
"Yeah!—take a little nap!—I hardly see myself shutting my eyes on a night like this. But I might—so you go to bed yourself and get that beauty sleep."
As the phones clicked off Updyke with stubborn tenacity, lunged back into the woof of his spider web. Everything seemed well in hand. Inquiry as to Villard showed satisfactory progress. He would live, but how he would come out of it was a question for Father Time to solve. Finally he called for Santzi and told him to sit by and wake him at prompt two-forty-five, and in two minutes more from the depths of the lounge he was competing with the fog horns of South Bay.
To George Carver three o'clock was an unearthly rising hour, as many a man would willingly bear witness. But Winifred, at two-thirty, had switched on the current under the percolator, and only awaited the presence of her liege lord and master before connecting the toaster.
It was the enticing odor of the bacon and coffee, not the alarm clock's mad music, that sent the young husband under the shower.
At two-forty-five the telephone tingled, and Winifred ran forward to answer.