“I said the biggest. I didn’t mean the smallest. Thank Heaven, Philipse Chidly Brook is still able to pay for a decent basket of posies for his little lady, I should hope! Thank you. I will have the note written by the time the basket is filled. And I wish to have especial care used in the delivery of the same. The billet-doux is important. I would not have it lost.”
“It shall not be. But the filling of the basket will take some time, a half-hour at least.”
“No matter. I am not pressed for time. Yet. I will wait.”
He did wait, with what those better acquainted with him would have considered an unusual amount of patience; but the truth was that the old fellow had had a pretty severe shaking-up, and now that his excitement over the accident began to ebb, he was more and more conscious of pains and bruises.
Finally, when the basket, perfect in its beauty, was tendered for his inspection, he rose very stiffly and barely looked at it.
“Here is the bill, sir. Forty-three chrysanthemums at seventy-five cents, thirty-two dollars, twenty-five cents; one basket, five—”
“The amount, lad! The amount! I hate detail.”
“Thirty-nine dollars, twenty-five cents.”
“All right. Two twenty-dollar pieces. Keep the change and buy one posy for your girl!” And with this fine sarcasm, as he considered it, the old gentleman left the flower-shop, entered the cab which a cash-boy had called for him, and gave the direction: “Astor House. At once.”