"Better try and sleep, Gussie. I'll put some Kaliston on your head."

"Kaliston! Kaliston won't keep me from worrying.--Oh, listen to that
harmonicon!"

"Gussie, I'm sure he isn't thinking of Mrs. North."

"Mrs. North is thinking of him, which is a great deal more dangerous.
Cyrus, you _must_ ask Dr. Lavendar to interfere."

As this was at least the twentieth assault upon poor Cyrus's common
sense, the citadel trembled.

"Do you wish me to go into brain fever before your eyes, just from
worry?" Gussie demanded. "You _must_ go!"

"Well, maybe, perhaps, to-morrow--"

"To-night--to-night," said Augusta, faintly.

And Cyrus surrendered.

"Look under the bed before you go," Gussie murmured.

Cyrus looked. "Nobody there," he said, reassuringly; and went on tiptoe
out of the darkened, cologne-scented room. But as he passed along the
hall, and saw his father in his little cabin of a room, smoking
placidly, and polishing his sextant with loving hands, Cyrus's heart
reproached him.