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Updated: May 21, 2025
Dodge isn't at 'ome," said Baffly quickly. "All right," said the porter, pushing past the man and leading George toward a couch he had observed from the open door. "This ain't no jag, Johnny. He's sick. Out of his head. Batty. Say, don't you know him? Am I in wrong? He said he wanted to come here to—" George had tossed himself, sprawling, upon the long couch.
He cannot be moved, Simmy." Simmy did not blink an eye. "Then right here he stays," he said heartily. "Baffly, we shall have two nurses here for a while,—and we may also have to put up a young lady relative of Mr. Tresslyn's. Get the rooms ready. By Jove, Brady, he—he looks frightfully ill, doesn't he?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Is he likely to—to—you know!"
Jenks, at six o'clock this evening." "All right," said Mr. Jenks. Baffly put George Tresslyn to bed and then called up Mr. Dodge's favourite club. He never called up the office except as a last resort. If Mr. Dodge wasn't to be found at any one of his nine clubs, or at certain restaurants, it was then time for calling up the office. Mr.
Dodge's. That was enough for us. So I brings him around. Now it's up to you guys to look after him. Off his nut. My name's Jenks. Tell it to Mr. Dodge, will you? And git a doctor quick. Put your hand here on his head. Aw, he won't bite you! Put it here. Ever feel anything as hot as that?" Baffly arose to the occasion. "Mr. Dodge 'as been hexpecting Mr. Tresslyn. He will also be hexpecting you, Mr.
Dodge was not in the club, but he had left word that if any one called him up he could be found at his office. "Put him to bed and send for Dr. Thorpe," was Simmy's order a few minutes later. "I've put 'im to bed, sir." "Out of his head, you say?" "I said, 'Put 'im to bed, sir," shouted Baffly. "I'll be home in half-an-hour, Baffly."
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