FullReads

ROBERTS, leaping out of bed and flinging open the door: “Why, I’ve been to Mrs. Miller’s!”

CAMPBELL, entering with his hat on, and his overcoat on his arm; “Oh no, you haven’t, you poor, suffering creature! That was a heavenly dream! Why, good gracious, man, you’re not dressed!” Campbell is himself in perfectly appointed evening-dress, and he stares in dismay at the travelling-suit which Roberts still wears. “You can’t go in that figure, you know. You might to Mrs. Curwen’s, but you’d give Mrs. Miller deadly offence; she’d think the Curwen had put you up to it. Didn’t Agnes tell you I’d be here at ten for you? What have you been doing with yourself? I supposed I should find you walking up and down here, fuming with impatience.”

ROBERTS. “I was dead tired, and after Agnes went, I just threw myself down here for a moment’s rest, and I was off before I knew it–“

CAMPBELL. “Well, then, hustle! There’s no time to lose. We shall be late, but I guess we can get there in time to save Agnes’s life if we hump ourselves. Are you shaved?”

ROBERTS. “Yes, I thought I’d better shave before I lay down–“

CAMPBELL. “Well, then, that’s half the battle, and you ought to be into your dress-suit in five minutes; but you’re an intellectual man, and your fingers are all thumbs, and so I’ll give you ten minutes. Hello! What’s this?” In speaking of shaving, Campbell has mechanically cast his eye towards the bureau, and has gradually become aware of the half-tumbler of water and the decanter of whiskey which Roberts has left standing there. He pounces upon the decanter, pulls out the stopple, and applies his nose to the mouth. “Ah, ha! This is the milk in the cocoanut, is it? No wonder you slept soundly, and had sweet dreams? Well, Roberts!”

ROBERTS. “No, no, Willis! I solemnly assure you I haven’t touched a drop of it!”

CAMPBELL. “Oh yes! I know! That’s what they always say!”

ROBERTS. “But I tell you, Willis–“

CAMPBELL. “Oh, all right, my boy! I don’t blame you! You have never fallen before, probably, but you’re down this time, old man. You have every appearance of being grossly intoxicated, as the reporters say, at this instant. Look how red your eyes are!”

ROBERTS. “It’s loss of sleep. I tell you I haven’t tasted the whiskey.”

CAMPBELL. “But it’s half gone!” He lifts the decanter and shows. “Well, I hope Agnes may never know it, and your poor children, Roberts–“

ROBERTS. “Nonsense! Agnes knows all about it. She brought me the decanter herself. She and Amy thought it would freshen me up. But I distrusted it; I was afraid the effect would be soporific–“

CAMPBELL. “And it seems you were perfectly right. Events have proved it. But come, now, don’t sit there all night, old fellow.” Roberts has sunk upon the edge of the bed. “We’ve got to be off to this scene of maddening gayety at Mrs. Miller’s. Want a wet towel round your head? Nothing like it, you know!”

ROBERTS, with dignity: “Thank you, I don’t need any wet towel, and I’ll be with you in a few moments, if you’ll kindly wait.” He moves towards the door of his dressing-room.

CAMPBELL, cheerfully: “Oh, I’ll stay by, Roberts; you needn’t be afraid. There’s nothing mean about me, and you’ll want somebody to pull you together, now and then, and I know just what to do; I’ve been through this kind of thing with lots of fellows in California. I know the haughty and self-helpful stage. You’re all right, Roberts. But don’t lose time. What’s the matter now?” Roberts has come back from his dressing-room and is staring vacantly at Campbell.