“I won’t,” she promised.
Drawing a leather folder from his breast pocket, Seff sorted out six twenties and one five-dollar bill and handed them to her.
Dolores took them, not knowing what to say. One hundred and twenty-five dollars!
“You see that I trust you. Take the rest of to-day and the early part of to-morrow to get yourself togged out,” he further advised. “You may report to me here around noon-time. I’ll explain then what your duties will be. Everything satisfactory?”
“I wish I could thank you,” Dolores murmured, as she stood waiting for him to turn the knob of the door.
“You can,” he said in his crisp way. “Give me the symbol.”
“The—this nectarine?”
“Yes. I want to sip it.”
She glanced up to see if he could be joking. But evidently he was not. His eyes met hers, blue and serious as a child’s. Yet she felt vaguely disturbed to notice that, as he looked, the tip of his tongue appeared from between his teeth and wiped both lips.
At once she gave him the nectarine. She was glad—so very glad—that she had something he wanted to give him. She told him so.