"Well," said
Anthony, "I'm young Packy McFarland and if you'll come down here I'll
beat you till you can't stand up." ...At that point the man had driven
off without them. They must have found another taxi, for they were in
the apartment....
"What time is it?" Anthony was sitting up in bed, staring at her with
owlish precision.
This was obviously a rhetorical question. Gloria could think of no
reason why she should be expected to know the time.
"Golly, I feel like the devil!" muttered Anthony dispassionately.
Relaxing, he tumbled back upon his pillow. "Bring on your grim reaper!"
"Anthony, how'd we finally get home last night?"
"Taxi."
"Oh!" Then, after a pause: "Did you put me to bed?"
"I don't know. Seems to me you put _me_ to bed. What day is it?"
"Tuesday."
"Tuesday? I hope so. If it's Wednesday, I've got to start work at that
idiotic place. Supposed to be down at nine or some such ungodly hour."
"Ask Bounds," suggested Gloria feebly.
"Bounds!" he called.
Sprightly, sober--a voice from a world that it seemed in the past two
days they had left forever, Bounds sprang in short steps down the hall
and appeared in the half darkness of the door.
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