“And how do I know there’s a good berth left on your steamer?”
“I got twenty-eight first-class accommodations. The young lady can have the pick o’ them.” He seemed to be coming slowly toward Mrs. Mar with a motion of offering his hand, whether to reassure her as to the solemnity of his given word on the subject of the berth, or in mere good-by.
She arrested him with her eye. “If I get my daughter these twelve shares”—Mrs. Mar’s hand was on the yellow bag—“I do it on my own responsibility. I shall not consult my sons.”
“Wa-al, it’s a good chance,” he admitted, but in the tone of one not disposed to deny that “all flesh is grass.” “I’d like your daughter to have her share. They ain’t many young ladies would want to take that journey jest to—”
“You’d better make out a receipt for those twelve shares straight away, before anybody comes in and interrupts.” Mrs. Mar opened the yellow bag.
Blumpitty looked vaguely at the floor. “I don’t know as I got any blanks along.”
“Blanks! I don’t want any blanks.”
“Certificate forms.”
“Oh—well, look and see,” she said peremptorily, with her glance at the clock.
Out of his breast pocket Blumpitty slowly took some papers. “Only a dirty one,” he said sadly.