Part 5 (1/2)
Galusha found himself standing beside a couch, an old-fas.h.i.+oned sofa. It tempted him--oh, how it tempted him!--but he remembered the condition of his garments.
”I am very wet indeed,” he faltered. ”I'm afraid I may spoil your--your couch.”
”Sit DOWN!”
Galusha sat. The room was doing a whirling dervish dance about him, but he still felt it his duty to explain.
”I fear you must think this--ah--very queer,” he stammered. ”I realize that I must seem--ah--perhaps insane, to you. But I have, as I say, been ill and I have walked several miles, owing to--ah--mistakes in locality, and not having eaten for some time, since breakfast, in fact, I--”
”Not since BREAKFAST? Didn't you have any dinner, for mercy sakes?”
”No, madam. Nor luncheon. Oh, it is quite all right, no one's fault but my own. Then, when I found the--the hotel closed, I--I sat down to rest and--and when I heard you call my name--”
”Wait a minute. What IS your name?”
”My name is Bangs, Galusha Bangs. It seems ridiculous now, as I tell it, but I certainly thought I heard you or some one call me by the name my relatives and friends used to use. Of course--”
”Wait. What was that name?”
Even now, dizzy and faint as he was, Mr. Bangs squirmed upon the sofa.
”It was--well, it was Loosh--or--ah--Looshy” he admitted, guiltily.
His hostess' face broke into smiles. Her ”comfortable” shoulders shook.
”Well, if that doesn't beat everything!” she exclaimed. ”I was callin'
my cat; his name is Lucy--Lucy Larcom; sometimes we call him 'Luce' for short.... Eh? Heavens and earth! Don't do THAT!”
But Galusha had already done it. The dervish dance in his head had culminated in one grand merry-go-round blotting out consciousness altogether, and he had sunk down upon the sofa.
The woman sprang from her chair, bent over him, felt his pulse, and loosened his collar.
”Primmie,” she called. ”Primmie, come here this minute, I want you!”
There was the sound of scurrying feet, heavy feet, from the adjoining room, the door opened and a large, raw-boned female, of an age which might have been almost anything within the range of the late teens or early twenties, clumped in. She had a saucer in one hand and a dishcloth in the other.
”Yes'm,” she said, ”here I be.” Then, seeing the p.r.o.ne figure upon the sofa, she exclaimed fervently, ”Oh, my Lord of Isrul! Who's that?”
”Now don't stand there swearin' and askin' questions, but do as I tell you. You go to the--”
”But--but what AILS him? Is he drunk?”
”Drunk? What put such a notion as that in your head? Of course he isn't drunk.”
”He ain't--he ain't dead?”
”Don't be so silly. He's fainted away, that's all. He's tired out and half sick and half starved, I guess. Here, where are you goin'?”
”I'm a-goin' to fetch some water. They always heave water on fainted folks.”
”Well, this one's had all the water he needs already. The poor thing is soaked through. You go to the pantry and in the blue soup tureen, the one we don't use, you'll find a bottle of that cherry rum Cap'n Hallet gave me three years ago. Bring it right here and bring a tumbler and spoon with it. After that you see if you can get Doctor Powers on the telephone and ask him to come right down here as quick as he can. HURRY!