He carefully stayed in the kitchen fifteen minutes--devoting most of
the time to a cautious examination of Ted, who seemed to be gradually
recovering consciousness. At least he stirred a little when poked by
Oliver's foot.
"Sleeps just like a baby--oh, the sweet little fellow--the dear little
fellow--" hummed Oliver wildly as he made a few last additions to the
curious network of string and towels with which he had wound Ted into the
fire-escape as if he had been making him a cocoon. "Well--well--_well_--
what a night we're having! What a night we're having and what _will_ we
have next?" Then he remembered the reason for his journey and removed a
bottle of brandy from the brown cup-board, found appropriate glasses
and, in the ice-chest, club-soda and ginger ale. He poured himself a drink
reminiscent of Paris--not that he felt he needed it for the reaction from
bracing himself to die like a Pythias had left him elvishly grotesque in
mind--gathered the bottles tenderly in his arms like small glass babies and
went back to the living-room.
XLI
And this time he was forced to pay internal high compliment to Mr.
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