A determined, defiant expression came into her husband's face as he went on:
"You can just bet he won't while I have the power of speech. He won't come that 'I—can't—recall' gag on me."
"Of course not," said Fanny soothingly.
Anxiously he continued:
"I've calculated exactly what I'd do with that extra fifty. I reckoned that after we'd paid the chauffeur and for the gasoline and things we'd have about twenty left, so I figured we'd be able to leave a Hundred and Fortieth Street and move down town to a Hundred and Twenty-fifth. Then I'd pictured old McLoughlin's face when he'd heard I'd got another raise and what he'd look like every morning when I drove to the office in my own car. And I'd picked out the places we'd go to for the next four Sundays—yes, and a lot of other things too."
"How did you find the time?"
"I had plenty of time last night, after we went to bed and you kept me awake by doing your grand combined kicking and contortion act. You take it from me—every time you get one of your restless fits, you smash all world's records for landing sudden and violent kicks in unexpected places."
Fanny laughed good-humoredly.
"Can I help it if I'm a little nervous once in a while?" she said.
"Of course not, and I don't blame you for it, but that doesn't give me back my sleep, does it?" Taking out his watch he added: "I've got to skin. I'll be a bit late as it is and McLoughlin's sure to be there waiting for me with a few pleasant words."