"What's all this crowd for?" asked Edward Henry.
"What crowd?" asked Mr. Sachs, surprised.
Edward Henry saw that he had blundered.
"I prefer the upper floors," remarked Mr. Sachs as they were being
flung upwards in a gilded elevator, and passing rapidly all numbers
from 1 to 14.
The elevator made an end of Carlo Trent's manhood. He collapsed. Mr.
Sachs regarded him, and then said:
"I think I'll get an extra room for Mr. Trent. He ought to go to bed."
Edward Henry enthusiastically concurred.
"And stay there!" said Edward Henry.
Pale Carlo Trent permitted himself to be put to bed. But, therein, he
proved fractious. He was anxious about his linen. Mr. Sachs telephoned
from the bedside, and a laundry-maid came. He was anxious about his
best lounge-suit. Mr. Sachs telephoned, and a valet came. Then he
wanted a siphon of soda-water, and Mr. Sachs telephoned, and a waiter
came. Then it was a newspaper he required. Mr. Sachs telephoned and
a page came. All these functionaries, together with two reporters,
peopled Mr. Trent's bedroom more or less simultaneously. It was Edward
Henry's bright notion to add to them a doctor--a doctor whom Mr. Sachs
knew, a doctor who would perceive at once that bed was the only proper
place for Carlo Trent.
"Now," said Edward Henry, when he and Mr. Sachs were participating in
a private lunch amid the splendours and the grim, silent service of
the latter's suite at the Stuyvesant, "I have fully grasped the fact
that I am in New York.
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