Having gratified this bibulous
ambition to the uttermost, he fell asleep. The morning sunlight
flaming at last on his coarse, bloated face awoke him to resentful
consciousness. Glowering at the bright, warm light with his single
eye, Hunch rolled away into the shadow and went to sleep again.
Below on the porch, with an outraged caretaker's letter in her hand
bag, Aunt Agatha turned her latchkey resolutely in the lock.
"I just will not have it!" reflected Aunt Agatha defiantly. "I
certainly will not. And I'd have been here yesterday if Mary hadn't
insisted upon my spending the night with her. Well do I remember how
Carl installed himself here last year with a Japanese servant and
invited that good-looking Wherry boy to come and scratch the furniture.
I don't suppose Carl invited him for that purpose," added Aunt Agatha
fairly, "but he did it, anyway. I can't for the life of me see why it
is that young Mr. Wherry is perpetually making scratches where his feet
rest. And I'm sure he left his footprint on the piano and thundered
through every roll on the player, for they're all out of place, and the
Williston caretaker heard him, though like as not it was Carl for that
matter. He's a Westfall, and he'd do it if he felt like it, dear
knows! Though I must say Carl detests bangy music.
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