Mitchell rose with a depressed air.

“I’ll go,” he said.  “I feel the need of a walk.  When I feel the need of anything I always take it and I’ve needed and taken so freely to-night that I need to take a walk to—­”

“I don’t think it funny to talk that way,” said Burnett a little heatedly.  “If you want to get the cabs why get the cabs.  I’m going to get them, too, and I reckon we can get them combined just as easy as alone.”

“I will go with you,” said his friend solemnly.  “I will accompany you because I feel the need—­” He stopped and turned his hat over and over.  “I know there’s a hole to put my head into,” he declared, “but I can’t just put my hand—­I mean my head—­on to—­I mean, into—­it.”

“Do you expect to find a brass hand pointing to it?” said Burnett testily.  “Come on!”

“Three cabs and five—­or was it six?—­jews-harps?” continued Mitchell dreamily.  “It must have been six, five for we five, and one for Lord Chesterfield—­but where is Lord Chesterfield?” he asked suddenly with a disturbed glance around.  “I hope he hasn’t deserted and gone home.”

“Come on, come on!” said Burnett.  “There won’t be a sober cab left if we don’t hurry while everything is still able to stand up.”

This reasoning seemed to alarm Mitchell and he went out with him at once.

“My head feels awfully,” said Clover to Jack.  “It sort of grinds and grates—­does yours?”

Jack stared straight ahead and made no reply.

“I’m goin’ home no more to roam,” said Aunt Mary slowly and sadly,—­“I’m goin’ home no more to roam, no more to sin an’ sorrow.  I’m goin’ home no more to roam—­I’m goin’ home to-morrow.  O hum!” She heaved a heavy sigh.

“Now see what you’ve done!” said the parrot with emphasis.

“Never mind,” said Clover bitterly.  “Better people than you have gone home before now; I used to do it myself before I was old enough to know worse.  Will you excuse me if I say, ‘Damn this buzzing in my head?’”

“I know how you feel,” said Aunt Mary sympathetically.  “Don’t you want me to ring for the porter and have him make up your berth right away?”

Clover didn’t seem to hear.  His eyes were roving moodily about the room; they looked almost as faded as his mustache.

“Seems to me they’re gone a long time,” said Jack presently, twisting a little in his seat.  “It never takes me so long to get a cab.  I hold up my hand—­the man stops—­and I get in—­what’s the matter, Aunt Mary?” He asked the question in sudden alarm at seeing Aunt Mary bury her face hastily in her handkerchief.

“What’s the matter?” he repeated loudly.

“Don’t mind me,” said Aunt Mary sobbing.  “It’s just that I happened to just think of Lu—­Lu—­Lucinda—­and somehow I don’t seem to have no strength to bear it.”

“Split the handkerchief between us,” said Clover.  “I want to cry, too, and there’s no time like the present for doing what you want to do.”