THE BRASS BOWL
Besides, who should call him up? Not two people knew that he was in town: not even O'Hagan was aware that he had returned to his rooms that morning.
He gaped again, stretching wide his arms, sat up on the edge of the bed, and heard the clock strike twelve.
Noon and … He had an engagement at two! He brightened at the memory and, jumping up, pressed an electric call-button on the wall. By the time he had paddled barefoot to the bath-room and turned on the cold-water tap, O'Hagan's knock summoned him to the hall door.
"Back again, O'Hagan; and in a desperate rush. I'll want you to shave me and send some telegrams, please. Must be off by one-thirty. You may get out my grey-striped flannels"—here he paused, calculating his costume with careful discrimination,—"and a black-striped negligée shirt; grey socks; russet low shoes; black and white check tie—broad wings. You know where to find them all?"
"Shure yiss, sor."
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