“Please telephone for the doctor, Jim!” cried Virginia, distracted, almost in tears.

The young man looked at both girls, his face serious and white.  For once he controlled the situation.  Soberly he said: 

“It’s too late.”

CHAPTER IV

In a luxuriously furnished suite on an upper floor of one of New York’s biggest and most expensive hotels two men sat carelessly scanning the morning newspapers before a table still covered with breakfast dishes.  It was nearly ten o’clock, long past the hour when most people begin the day’s work, and there was nothing, either in the men’s dress or manner, to suggest that they belonged to the effete and useless idle class.  On the contrary, in appearance they were typical business men—­energy, prosperity, masterfulness, showing in their every word and gesture, in every line of their clean-cut, strong-featured faces.  On this particular morning they were not looking their best, and the reason, as well as the explanation of their late rising might possibly be found in the disorder which a cursory glance around the room revealed.  Dress coats, white ties, patent leather pumps and other paraphernalia of evening wear were scattered here and there, just as each article had been thrown down when they had returned home the night before, while on a side table were a couple of champagne bottles—­empty.

They were both comparatively young men.  The elder of the two, a big, athletic fellow with smooth face and strong jaw, did not appear to be much over thirty-five.  His companion was about the same age.  Both had the blase air of men who had lived and lived hard.  All of life’s fiercer joys they had known to excess, which explained, perhaps, why they were tired and disillusionized long before they had attained their prime.  With a gesture of disgust, the elder man threw down his paper, and, snatching up a glass of ice-water, swallowed the refreshing contents at a gulp.

“It’s no use, Fred!” he exclaimed.  “I’m no good for that late bumming.  I guess I’m getting old.  Those midnight orgies never did agree with me.  Hot birds and cold wine are a barbaric mixture, anyhow.  I’m going to cut it out—­do you understand?—­cut it out.  So don’t ask me again—­it’s no use.  I’ve got a fearful headache this morning—­and I’m so sleepy that I’d like to go to bed for a week.  It’s idiotic for a man to make such an infernal ass of himself.  It knocks one out and renders one unfit for business.  How can I go down town and understand what I’m doing when I’ve got such a head on as this?  There’s a directors’ meeting to-day, too—­very important.  What time was it when we got home?”

“About three o’clock, I should say,” rejoined his vis-a-vis laconically, without looking up from his newspaper.