"
"Suite A is considered very good, sir. It is one of the best on
the line."
"Line?" Kirk grunted. "So this is some dead-line dump. Well, I'm
going to get out--understand? Hand me my trousers and I'll slip
you a quarter."
The steward did as desired, but a blind search showed the pockets
to be empty.
"Give me the coat and vest." But here again Kirk found nothing,
and was forced to apologize. "Sorry, old man, but I must have left
it at the office. Now be a good fellow and hustle up that taxi.
I'm getting sicker every minute."
"Perhaps you had better have the doctor?"
"Is there a good one handy?"
"Yes, sir."
"Here in the hotel?"
The steward seemed undecided whether to treat the occupant of
Suite A as a humorist or a lunatic, but finally he observed, "This
isn't a hotel, sir."
"That's what I though-t-more like a roadhouse," "This is a ship."
"A--WHAT?" Anthony raised himself and stared at the white-clad
figure over the foot of his little brass bed.
"This is a ship, sir."
"You get out of here!" yelled the infuriated young man. He cast
his eyes about for some missile to hurl at this insolent menial,
and, spying a heavy glass pitcher upon a stand beside him, reached
for it, whereat the steward retreated hastily to the door.
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