“Pooh!” he muttered.

He reckoned he would be living at the rate of about fifteen pounds a day, or five thousand five hundred a year. (He did not count the cost of his purchases, because they were in the nature of a capital expenditure.)

“Cheap!” he muttered.  “For once I’m about living up to my income!”

The sensation was exquisite in its novelty.

He ordered tea, and afterwards, feeling sleepy, he went fast asleep.

He awoke to the ringing of the telephone-bell.  It was quite dark.  The telephone-bell continued to ring.

“Joseph!” he called.

The valet entered.

“What time is it?”

“After ten o’clock, sir.”

“The deuce it is!”

He had slept over four hours!

“Well, answer that confounded telephone.”

Joseph obeyed.

“It’s a Mr. Bryany, sir, if I catch the name right,” said Joseph.

Bryany!  For twenty-four hours he had scarcely thought of Bryany or the option either.

“Bring the telephone here,” said Edward Henry.

The cord would just reach to his chair.

“Hello!  Bryany!  Is that you?” cried Edward Henry, gaily.

And then he heard the weakened voice of Mr. Bryany in his ear: 

“How d’ye do, Mr. Machin?  I’ve been after you for the better part of two days, and now I find you’re staying in the same hotel as Mr. Sachs and me!”

“Oh!” said Edward Henry.

He understood now why, on the previous day, the dandy introducing him to his suite had smiled a welcome at the name of Alderman Machin, and why Joseph had accepted so naturally the command to take a bath.  Bryany had been talking.  Bryany had been recounting his exploits as a card.

The voice of Bryany in his ear continued: 

“Look here!  I’ve got Miss Euclid here and some friends of hers.  Of course she wants to see you at once.  Can you come down?”

“Er—­” He hesitated.

He could not come down.  He would have no evening wear till the next day but one.

Said the voice of Bryany: 

“What?”

“I can’t,” said Edward Henry.  “I’m not very well.  But listen.  All of you come up to my rooms here and have supper, will you?  Suite 48.”

“I’ll ask the lady,” said the voice of Bryany, altered now, and a few seconds later:  “We’re coming.”

“Joseph,” Edward Henry gave orders rapidly, as he took off his coat and removed the pocket-book from it.  “I’m ill, you understand.  Anyhow, not well.  Take this,” handing him the coat, “and bring me the new dressing-gown out of that green cardboard box from Rollet’s—­I think it is.  And then get the supper menu.  I’m very hungry.  I’ve had no dinner.”

Within sixty seconds he sat in state, wearing a grandiose yellow dressing-gown.  The change was accomplished just in time.  Mr..  Bryany entered, and not only Mr..  Bryany but Mr..  Seven Sachs, and not only these, but the lady who had worn a red hat at lunch.