Mr. Thoburn got up and made a speech, protesting that they didn't know
what they were letting themselves in for, and ended up by demanding to
know if he was expected to breakfast at seven-thirty.
"Yes, or earlier," Mr. Pierce said pleasantly. "I suppose you could have
something at seven."
"And suppose I refuse?" he retorted disagreeably.
But everybody turned on him, and said if they could do it, he could, and
he sat down again. Then somebody suggested that if they were to get up
they'd have to go to bed, and the party broke up.
Doctor Barnes helped me gather up the clam shells and the plates.
"It's a risky business," he said. "To-night doesn't mean anything;
they're carried away by the reaction and the desire for something new.
The next week will tell the tale."
"If we could only get rid of Mr. Thoburn!" I exclaimed. Doctor Barnes
chuckled.
"We may not get rid of him," he said, "but I can promise him the most
interesting week of his life. He'll be too busy for mischief. I'm going
to take six inches off his waist line."
Well, in a half-hour or so I had cleared away, and I went out to the
lobby to lock up the news stand. Just as I opened the door from the back
hall, however, I heard two people talking.
It was Miss Pat and Mr. Pierce. She was on the stairs and he in the hall
below, looking up.
"I don't WANT to stay!" she was saying.
"But don't you see?" he argued. "If you go, the others will. Can't you
try it for a week?"
"I quite understand your motive," she said, looking down at him more
pleasantly than she'd ever done, "and it's very good of you and all
that.
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