CHAPTER XV
ONE MORE WHIRL
Mr. Toomey folded his comfortable bathrobe over his new pajamas and tied the silken cord and tassel, remarking casually :
" I think we'll have breakfast here this morning."
The flowing sleeve of Mrs. Toomey's pink silk negligee fell away from her bare arm as she stood arranging her hair before the wide-topped dresser of Circassian walnut that looked so well against a background of pale gray wall paper with a delicate pink border.
" They charge extra," she reminded him.
Toomey was already at the telephone.
"Whole ones? Certainly — and Floridas — be par- ticular. Eggs — soft to medium. Toast for two, with- out butter. And coffee? Of course, coffee. Send a paper with it, will you? "
As he hung up the receiver, " This is our last breakfast on earth. Old Dear — we're going home to-morrow."
Mr. Toomey repaired to the adjoining bathroom with its immaculate porcelain and tiling, where he inspected his chin critically in the shaving mirror and commented upon the rapid growth of his beard, which he declared became tropical in a temperate climate.
" Just to be warm and not have to carry ashes — it's heavenly I " ecstatically sighed Mrs. Toomey.
Forget it! " laconically. " What makes 'em so slow
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