Part 10 (2/2)

If you feel mean in the night sing out; Martha'll hear you and come in.

I'll be on hand in the morning. Good-night, Mr. Bangs.”

He blew out the lamp and departed, closing the door behind him. The rain poured upon the roof overhead and splashed against the panes of the two little windows beneath the eaves. Galusha Bangs, warm and dry for the first time in hours, sank comfortably to sleep.

He woke early, at least he felt sure it was early until he looked at his watch. Then he discovered it was almost nine o'clock. He had had a wonderful night's rest and he felt quite himself, quite well again, he--

Whew! That shoulder WAS a trifle stiff. Yes, and there was a little more lameness in his ankles and knees than he could have wished. Perhaps, after all, he would not get up immediately. He would lie there a little longer and perhaps have the hotel people send up his breakfast, and--Then he remembered that he was not at the hotel; he was occupying a room in the house of a total stranger. No doubt they were waiting breakfast for him. Dear me, dear me!

He climbed stiffly out of bed and began to dress. This statement is not quite correct; he prepared to begin to dress. Just as he reached the important point where it was time to put something on he made a startling discovery: His clothes were gone!

It was true, they were gone, every last item of them with the unimportant exceptions of crumpled collar and tie. Galusha looked helplessly about the room and s.h.i.+vered.

”Oh, dear me!” he cried, aloud. ”Oh, dear!”

A voice outside his chamber door made answer.

”Be you awake, Mr. Bangs?” asked Primmie. ”Here's your things. Doctor Powers he come up and got 'em last night after you'd fell asleep and me and Miss Martha we hung 'em alongside the kitchen stove. They're dried out fine. Miss Martha says you ain't to get up, though, till the doctor comes. I'll leave your things right here on the floor.... Or shall I put 'em inside?”

”Oh, no, no! Don't, don't! I mean put them on the floor--ah--outside.

Thank you, thank you.”

”Miss Martha said if you was awake to ask you if you felt better.”

”Oh, yes--yes, much better, thank you. Thank you--yes.”

He waited in some trepidation, until he heard Primmie clump downstairs.

Then he opened the door a crack and retrieved his ”things.” They were not only dry, but clean, and the majority of the wrinkles had been pressed from his trousers and coat. The mud had even been brushed from his shoes. Not that Galusha noticed all this just then. He was busy dressing, having a nervous dread that the unconventional Primmie might find she had forgotten something and come back to bring it.

When he came downstairs there was no one in the sitting room and he had an opportunity to look about. It was a pleasant apartment, that sitting room, especially on a morning like this, with the suns.h.i.+ne streaming in through the eastern windows, windows full of potted plants set upon wire frames, with hanging baskets of trailing vines and a canary in a cage about them. There were more plants in the western windows also, for the sitting room occupied the whole width of the house at that point.

The pictures upon the wall were almost all of the sea, paintings of schooners, and one of the ”Barkentine Hawkeye, of Boston. Captain James Phipps, leaving Surinam, August 12, 1872.” The only variations from the sea pictures were a ”crayon-enlarged” portrait of a st.u.r.dy man with an abundance of unruly gray hair and a chin beard, and a chromo labeled ”Sunset at Niagara Falls.” The portrait bore sufficient resemblance to Miss Martha Phipps to warrant Galusha's guess that it was intended to portray her father, the ”Cap'n Jim” of whom the doctor had spoken. The chromo of ”Sunset at Niagara Falls” was remarkable chiefly for its lack of resemblance either to Niagara or a sunset.

He was inspecting this work of art when Miss Phipps entered the room.

She was surprised to see him.

”Mercy on us!” she exclaimed. ”WHAT in the world are you doin'

downstairs here?”

Galusha blushed guiltily and hastened to explain that he was feeling quite himself, really, and so had, of course, risen and--ah--dressed.

”But I do hope, Miss Phipps,” he added, ”that I haven't kept you waiting breakfast. I'm afraid I have.”

She laughed at the idea. ”Indeed you haven't,” she declared. ”If you don't mind my sayin' so, Mr. Bangs, the angel Gabriel couldn't keep me waitin' breakfast till half past nine on a Sat.u.r.day mornin'. Primmie and I were up at half-past six sharp. That is, I got up then and Primmie was helped up about five minutes afterward. But what I want to know,” she went on, ”is why you got up at all. Didn't the doctor say you were to stay abed until he came?”

”Why--why, yes, I believe he did, but you see--you see--”

”Never mind. The main thing is that you ARE up and must be pretty nearly starved. Sit right down, Mr. Bangs. Your breakfast will be ready in two shakes.”

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