Mrs. Bob: A Novel — page 73: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

BOB PEMBERTON IN THE WRONG ROOM. 65 the latter, of course. Yes, I recognize the line I took along that edge—here goes.’’ His limbs are rather stiff and sore from the tre- mendous exertions of the day, but Bob is something of an athlete, being a tried and true member of the Manhattan Athletic Club, when at home in New York. He skirmishes up the- water pipe to the shed, luckily on the darkened side of the house. Before the ten minutes are up he has reached the window he seeks and seems perfectly satisfied that there has been no mistake made. So he swings a leg over the sill, and enters as quietly as he can, not wishing to disturb the slumbers of Senator John. No sooner has he really entered the room than he becomes conscious of two things that give him an un- easy feeling. As well as he can remember the room they occupied was scented with the odor of the Havana he smoked, while Senator John slept in his chair. This apartment, on the contrary, is delight- fully perfumed with violets or new-mown hay. A cold chill creeps up and down Bob’s spinal col- umn—can he, after all, have made a ridiculous blun- der and entered the wrong room? He listens—surely, if he has not, a certain sound should be heard, tell- ing him so—the nasal trumpet of his stout comrade, the man who has been in every country under the sun, and retains mementoes of each. Bob listens with his heart in his mouth. He thinks he hears a slight rustling sound, but, beyond that, and the murmur of the wind in the Gomichbooksr