"All right?" said the colonel.
"Yes, Excellency," said one of them. "He is in there in bed."
He went into the inner room and began to undo the shutters, letting in
the early sun.
We passed through the half-opened door and saw a peaceful figure lying
in the bed, whence proceeded a gentle snore.
"Good nerve, hasn't he?" said the colonel.
"Yes; but what a queer night-cap!" I said, for the President's head
was swathed in white linen.
The colonel strode quickly up to the bed.
"Done, by hell!" he cried. "It's Johnny Carr!"
It was true; there lay Johnny. His Excellency was nowhere to be seen.
The colonel shook Johnny roughly by the arm. The latter opened his
eyes and said sleepily:
"Steady there. Kindly remember I'm a trifle fragile."
"What's this infernal plot? Where's Whittingham?"
"Ah, it's McGregor," said Johnny, with a bland smile, "and Martin. How
are you, old fellow? Some beast's hit me on the head."
"Where's Whittingham?" reiterated the colonel, savagely shaking
Johnny's arm.
"Gently!" said I; "after all, he's a sick man."
The colonel dropped the arm with a muttered oath, and Johnny said,
sweetly:
"Quits, isn't it, colonel?"
The colonel turned from him, and said to his men sternly:
"Have you had any hand in this?"
They protested vehemently that they were as astonished as we were; and
so they were, unless they acted consummately.
Pages:
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120