He pushed the button and waited. Within two minutes
the door opened, and Judkins entered, laden with fresh garments.
"Good-morning, sir," said Judkins. "Your own clothes, and some shirts
and other things I've borrowed from Mr. Dick. How will you have your
bath, sir--hot or cold?"
"Cold," said the bewildered Larry.
Judkins disappeared into the great white-tiled bathroom, there was the
rush of splashing water for a few moments, then silence, and Judkins
reappeared.
"Your bath is ready, sir. I've laid out some of Mr. Dick's razors. How
soon shall I bring you in your breakfast?"
"In about twenty minutes," said Larry.
Exactly twenty minutes later Judkins carried in a tray, and set it on
a table beside a window looking down into Park Avenue. "Miss Sherwood
asked me to tell you she would see you in the library at ten o'clock,
sir--where she saw you last night," said Judkins, and noiselessly was
gone.
Freshly shaven, tingling from his bath, with a sense of being garbed
flawlessly, though in garments partly alien, Larry addressed himself
to the breakfast of grapefruit, omelette, toast and coffee, served on
Sevres china with covers of old silver. In his more prosperous eras
Larry had enjoyed the best private service that the best hotels in New
York had to sell; but their best had been coarse and slovenly compared
to this.
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