Say, maybe Sudden’s eyes wouldn’t stick out!  And Mary V would kind of catch her breath and open her eyes wide at him, and say, “Why, Johnny—?” And say—­no, jump up and put her arms around his neck and—­slide her lips along his cheek and whisper—­

An hour and a half later he awoke, saw with dismay that it was seven o’clock, and piled out of bed as guiltily as though an irate round-up boss stood over him.  The Thunder Bird to repair, a big business deal to be accepted or rejected,—­whichever his judgment advised and the fates favored,—­and he in bed at seven o’clock!  He dressed hurriedly, expecting to hear an impatient rapping on the door before he was ready to face a critical business world.  If he had time that day, he ought to get himself some clothes.  He would not want to eat again in that place where Cliff Lowell took him, dressed as he was now.

He waited an impatient five minutes, went down to the lobby,—­after some trouble finding the elevator,—­and found himself alone with the onyx pillars and a few porters with brushes and things.  A different clerk glanced at him uninterestedly and assured him that no one had called to see Mr. Jewel that morning.  He left word that he would be back in half an hour and went out to find breakfast.  Luck took him through the side entrance to Spring Street, where eating places were fairly numerous.  He discovered what he wanted, ate as fast as he could swallow without choking on his ham and eggs or scalding his throat with the coffee, and returned to the hotel.

No, there had been no call for Mr. Jewel.  Johnny bought a morning paper, but could find no mention of his arrival in Los Angeles.  Cliff Lowell, he decided, must be playing the secrecy to the limit.  It did not please him overmuch, in spite of his revilings of the press that had made a joke of his troubles.  Couldn’t they do anything but go to extremes, for gosh sake?  Here he had made a record night,—­he had distinctly told that clerk the time he had made it in,—­and Cliff Lowell knew, too.  Yet the paper was absolutely dumb.  They ignored everything he did that was worth notice, and yawped his private affairs all over their front pages.  That man Lowell was taking too much on himself.  Johnny hadn’t agreed to take the job yet; he very much doubted whether he would take it at all.  He would rather be his own boss and fly when he pleased and where he pleased.  This flying over into Mexico and back looked pretty fishy, come to think of it.  If it was against the law, how did Lowell expect to get away with it?  If it wasn’t, why be so darned secret about it?