"I beg pardon, sir. I will send the doctor at once."
"Must think I'm still drunk," mumbled Anthony, dazedly, as he once
more laid his head upon his pillow with a groan.
When his dizziness had diminished sufficiently to permit him to
open his eyes he scanned his surroundings more carefully; but his
vision was unreliable. His head, too, continued to feel as if his
skull were being forcibly spread apart by some fiendish instrument
concealed within it. His mouth was parched, his stomach violently
rebellious. In spite of these distractions he began to note
certain unfamiliar features about this place. The wall-paper, for
instance, which at first glance he had taken for the work of some
cheap decorator, turned out to be tapestry, as he proved by
extending a shaky hand. The low ceiling, the little windows with
wooden blinds, the furniture itself, were all out of keeping with
hotel usages. He discovered by rolling his head that there was a
mahogany dresser over by the door and a padded couch covered with
chintz. There were folding brass clothes-hooks on the wall,
moreover, and an electric fan, while a narrow door gave him a
glimpse of a tiny, white-enamelled bath-room.
He took in these details laboriously, deciding finally that he was
too intoxicated to see aright, for, while the place was quite
unlike an ordinary hotel room, neither did it resemble any
steamship stateroom he had ever seen; it was more like a lady's
boudoir.
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