That star of stage, screen and _brissim_ shouted fuzzily at the door:
"Go to hell! Let me sleep!"
"Dave!" It was Mr. Semmel's voice. "There's some men here. They want to
talk to you."
Dave Wax made an obscene suggestion to Mr. Semmel. He was a tummeler,
not the manager of the hotel; let Mrs. Goudeket come back and talk if
somebody should do it--"Wait a minute. What'd you say, Semmel?"
The concessionaire repeated it. "The flood's over?" demanded Dave Wax.
"The roads are dry?" He staggered over to the window to see the miracle
for himself.