'Quite correct,' said the clerk, returning. He was puzzled; he hazarded a suggestion: 'Do you—er—wish to open——?'
'Notes, please,' said Peggy.
He opened a drawer with many compartments.
'Hundreds!' cried Peggy suddenly. She explained afterwards that she had wanted as much 'crackle' as the little bag would hold.
The clerk licked his forefinger. 'One—two—three—four——'
'Why should he ever stop?' thought Peggy, looking on with the sensation a millionaire might have if he could keep his freshness.
'Thank you very much,' she beamed, with a gratitude almost obtrusive, as she put the notes in the bag. She was aware that it is not correct to look surprised when your friends' cheques are honoured, but she was not quite able to hold the feeling in repression.
Her bodyguard flung away half-consumed cigarettes and resigned themselves to their duties. A glance at the little bag showed that it had grown quite fat.
'Be very, very careful of me now,' ordered Peggy, as she stepped warily towards the hansom.
'There are seventy thousand thieves known to the police,' said Arty.