So when the order came for
the carriage, Fitz winked at me with his left eye, walked to the
sidewalk, whistled to a string of cabs, and the next instant we were
all three whirling up the crowded street in search of the bedridden
broker.
The longer the colonel brooded over the situation the more he was
satisfied with the idea of the apology. Indeed, before he had turned
down the side street leading to the temporary hospital of the suffering
man, he had arranged in his mind just where the ceremony would take
place, and just how he would frame his opening sentence. He was glad,
too, that Klutchem had been discovered so soon--while Yancey and Kerfoot
were still in town.
The colonel alighted first, ran up the steps, pulled the bell with the
air of a doctor called to an important case, and sent his card to the
first floor back.
"Mr. Klutchem says, 'Walk up,'" said the maid.
The broker was in an armchair with his back to the door, only the top
of his bald head being visible as we entered. On a stool in front
rested a foot of enormous size swathed in bandages.
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