In short, the situation had become sinister. The smiles around him were dreadful-looking things, all except Laurie's. With an appalling howl Samuel detached himself from the surgeon's grasp and fled to Laurie, who picked him up and held him firmly and comfortably in his lap until a lady in white came with something nice for Samuel to smell.
The next thing Samuel knew was that he was in bed in a strange room. He gulped and discovered that his throat was sore. He sat up, distended his mouth for a yell, and then very slowly closed it.
From every corner of the room familiar figures were hastening to his side. The lady in white, Sonya, and his mother all reached him at the same moment. On the pillow beside him Hullen R. J. awaited the honor of his attention like a perfect lady. No howls from her, as Sonya immediately pointed out. As she thus soothed, Sonya was kissing him. The lady in white was offering him something pleasant to drink. His mother was patting his back.
For a long instant Samuel took in the gratifying fact of these activities. Then he assorted his features, grabbed Hullen R. J., exchanged his yell for a large smile, and permitted himself to be waited on. Deep in his masculine consciousness he had realized that his world was normal again.
Bangs and Laurie walked up Fifth Avenue together, stopping at a florist's to purchase the man's entire supply of roses for Mrs. Ordway. Bangs also discovered some masses of poinsettia and chrysanthemums that, as he said, "looked like her." Laden with these spoils, they took a taxicab to the Ordway house, where they found Jepson exuding an atmosphere of reassurance.
Yessir, Mrs. Hordway seemed better. She 'ad a more restful night, han' Susanne said was quite bright this morning. Hof course she'd see Mr. Devon, hand prob'bly Mr. Bangs, halso. Jepson would harsk at once.
Jepson moved ponderously away to do so, while Rodney, opening his big box in the hall, drew out the poinsettia and chrysanthemums and proceeded to arrange them in a gorgeous armful. Bangs had unexpected taste in color and arrangement, as Epstein's stage-directors had discovered in the past. Laurie watched him with polite interest.
"Making a picture of yourself, aren't you?" he asked. "Going into the sick-room with your little hands full of flowers?" But even as he scoffed he was unwrapping his own flowers. Bangs was right. The act of handing a pasteboard box to a sick friend lacked esthetic value.