Toomey blinked at the check he placed before him.
“Can’t see whether tha’s twenty dollars, or two hundred dollars or two thousand dollars.”
The waiter murmured the amount, but not so softly but that Mrs. Toomey paled when she heard it. He had not enough to pay it, she was sure of it, for while he had brought from the room an amount that would have been ample for any ordinary theater supper, wine had not been in his calculations.
Mrs. Toomey looked on anxiously while he produced the contents of his pocket.
“Sorry, sir, but it isn’t enough,” said the waiter, after counting the notes he tossed upon the plate.
Toomey found the discovery amusing.
“You s'prise me,” he chuckled.
“Sorry, sir, but—” the waiter persisted.
With a swift transition of mood Toomey demanded haughtily:
“Gue'sh you don' know who I am?”