"Jimmie!" she exclaimed indignantly.
He stayed his hand and rather shamefacedly placed the cigars back in the box. Looking up, he demanded:
"Why not? He wouldn't mind."
"Just the same, it isn't a gentlemanly thing to do," she said severely.
"If it comes to that," he retorted sharply, "I ain't a gentleman—I'm a shipping clerk."
"Then, of course, there's nothing more to say," she answered, turning her back. Picking up a book, she dropped into a chair and, ignoring him, relapsed into a dignified silence.
But Jimmie was not to be suppressed by a mere rebuff. After a long, sulky silence, during which he puffed viciously at his cigar, he followed his prospective sister-in-law across the room. After staring at her for some time, he inquired:
"How did you first come to know Mr. Stafford?"
At first the girl made no answer, pretending to be absorbed in what she was reading. He repeated the question so pointedly that she would not ignore it any longer. Looking up, she said rather impatiently:
"How many more times must I tell you? I was at my desk in the hotel about three months ago and he came and wanted long distance—I think it was Washington. There was some trouble getting his party and, as people will, we got into conversation about it. I had no idea who he was—"