He closed his eyes tightly and calmed his
stomach by an effort of will. At last he heard the door open and a
voice inquire:
"Did you ring, sir?"
"An hour ago. Haven't you more than one bell-hop in this place?"
"I'm sorry, sir."
"And I'm sick, mighty sick. I'm going to die."
"I think not, sir; the others are sick, too."
"That's good! I was afraid they'd dressed and gone." It was some
consolation to know that Ringold and Higgins had not escaped their
share of suffering. "How is Hig--the bony fellow?"
"Do you mean the gentleman in thirty-two?"
"How should I know his number? That's not Hig's description,
however--even you could tell that he is no gentle--Oh, Lord!"
"Can I get you something, sir--a little champagne, perhaps, to
settle your stomach?"
"NO, NO! Get me a taxicab. I want to go up-town."
"Rather a long drive, isn't it?" snickered the bell-boy.
"Never mind the comedy." Anthony opened his eyes. "Hello! Are you
the clerk?" Instead of the bell-hop he had expected he beheld a
man in white jacket and black trousers.
"No, sir, I'm the steward."
The invalid shook his head faintly. "Funny place I've got into.
What's the name of it?"
"This? Oh! The SANTA CRUZ."
"Never heard of it. Why didn't they give me a good room? This is
fierce.
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