Fifteen minutes later, gorgeous in his frayed oriental bathrobe and his Persian slippers, he banged on the wall and evoked a muffled shout of greeting.

As usual Garry might or might not be in bed.

Kenny's time values had not altered.
Garry came at once in bathrobe and slippers.
"Lord, Kenny," he exclaimed warmly, "I'm glad you're back and sane.
But I'm mad as a wet hen!" "At me?
My dear Garry!" "You didn't write, you know, after you said you would.

You never do--" "I telegraphed instead." "Your telegram," reminded Garry, "said 'O.K.

Kenny.' And I'm chuck full of curiosity and questions.