"Better not irritate him--he'll get mad if we don't laugh," after
which they burst into laughter so extravagant that I knew it to be
feigned. Hereupon, feeling quite drowsy, I resolved to have forty
winks, and with due apologies reclined upon the couch, where I drifted
into a refreshing slumber.
Later I inferred that I must have slept for some hours. I was awakened
by a light flashed in my eyes, and beheld Cousin Egbert and the Tuttle
person, the latter wishing to know how late I expected to keep them
up. I was on my feet at once with apologies, but they instantly
hustled me to the door, down a flight of steps, through a court-yard,
and into the waiting cab. It was then I noticed that I was wearing the
curious hat of the American Far-West, but when I would have gone back
to leave it, and secure my own, they protested vehemently, wishing to
know if I had not given them trouble enough that day.
In the cab I was still somewhat drowsy, but gathered that my
companions had left me, to dine and attend a public dance-hall with
the cubbish art student. They had not seemed to need sleep and were
still wakeful, for they sang from time to time, and Cousin Egbert
lifted the cabby's hat, which he still wore, bowing to imaginary
throngs along the street who were supposed to be applauding him.
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