“Time’s up.”
He knew so well that she would give him the limit, that he rose like a shot, and picked up the suit-case.
“But why, Betsy,” examining her as they fled, “why are you hatted and suited in so finished a manner?”
“Because we’re goin’ with you,” replied Betsy equably.
“What? Why?”
“Because Mrs. Bruce didn’t sleep any, and neither did Mrs. Nixon; and we’re all goin’.”
There was no further time for talk. Irving had had the forethought to pay his bill the night before, and when he and Betsy stepped into the last stage it had all the familiar appearance of previous days except that no waitress was shrinking in a corner like a violet striving to hide beneath its leaves.
“Here we are,” said Robert cheerfully. “United we stand, divided we fall. We’re all going fishing.”
“Irving, come here.”