“It’s very cruel of Julia,” said he. “It’s a beastly night--that moth’ll get an awful cold in its chest--accompanied by sore throat, fever, and chills, and violent perspiration--and developing into a nasty hacking cough.” CHAPTER X _Wherein Master Oliver entertains Guests_ When Caroline Baddlesmere returned to the great bare room, and took off her outdoor wraps, Noll was seemingly drowsing, Netherby Gomme sitting on the bed by his side. The boy had been lying very still for awhile when he touched Netherby’s sleeve, signing to him to put down the ear of confidence: “Netherby,” he whispered, “when it’s within a quarter of midnight, old Modeyne will be fumbling at the door-latch down below.... I shan’t be able to help Betty to bring him up to-night--so you might slip down on tip-toe and just keep a flight of steps above her all the way. In case she needs help you can pretend you are just going home.” He took hold of Gomme’s coat-lapel: “Don’t let her know you are on the look-out unless old Modeyne is very far gone--he’s a goodish weight to push along.” Netherby nodded. A gleam shot into Noll’s eye; and he caught Gomme’s coat-lapel again: “He comes up pretty quiet--he always takes his boots off _for fear of waking the gossips_!” A twinkle glittered in his eyes: “The bother is that once he begins undressing he takes off everything but his shirt, and insists on going to sleep on the hall mat. Betty has got to keep him moving--she knows exactly what to do.... Once he starts up the stairs he is all right--unless he hiccups, and insists on apologizing to the people whose doors he is passing.... You’ll know soon enough, he nearly kicks their doors down. He looks killingly funny with his braces hanging down behind and carrying his boots and things as he goes crawling up the stairs, cracking his toes, and complaining that _it is not seemly that rending Hiccup should climb the Whirling Stairs of Ambition_. He sometimes lies down at the head of a flight of steps and insists on going to sleep--he says that _we are the slaves of convention, and an overplus of clips tends to an overtax of sleep_.... You’ve got to see that he doesn’t stop at the landlady’s door, or he’ll kick it and chuckle in a loud whisper: _Behold where whispering gossip lies!_ with the accent on the ‘lies.’ He’s a bit of a wag is old Modeyne; but he won’t do anything low--he’s always a gentleman--even in his night-shirt.” The lad’s face grew serious again. “Betty will be waiting up for him--and she has no fire--and--I shall not be able to help to-night.” Netherby nodded. There was a knock at the door; and the little lodging-house drudge crept in, shut it after her, and set her back against it: “Please, lidy,” she said with a loud sniff, “that lidy what walks like a police-officer is a-straddlin’ on the mat outside.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards the door behind her: