Footsteps and low subdued voices in the hall. Hildegarde had seen her brother from an upper window, and had come down with Mrs. Blumpitty to let Harry in.
There would be no trouble in selling “Berth 21” for the third time.
Mrs. Mar, about to hand an envelop to Mr. Blumpitty, wondered to herself, “How much of a fool am I? Well, I haven’t done fool-things all along the line, like most people. If I must commit foolishness before I die, I’ll do it all in a lump and be done with it.” Whereupon she handed Mr. Blumpitty the envelop. He seemed to be giving Harry his address. Mrs. Blumpitty was making an appointment to meet Miss Mar “at ten o’clock to-morrow, at Baumgarten’s.”
For the third time Mrs. Mar was reading through a paper she held in her hand. When she came to the ill-written signature, “How do you spell your name?” she demanded of Mr. Blumpitty.
“B-l-u-m-p-i-t-t-y,” said the gentleman mournfully.
“Humph,” said Mrs. Mar, head on one side and eyes fixed so critically on the name that Mrs. Blumpitty hastened to the defense. “It’s French,” says she.
“French!” echoes Mrs. Mar. “How do you make that out?”
“Well, that’s what his grandmother always told him. She said it was originally Blank Peed.” Wherewith, having vindicated the family, she shook hands and led the way out. Harry was opening the outside door for them. No one spoke above a whisper, on account of Mr. Dorn.
“Good-by, Mr. Blumpitty.”
“Good-by, ma’am.”