“Well, why didn’t you say so? Here you’ve been chinning while the taximeter is clicking off money. Is that any way to help me meet expenses? You’re a nice enough boy, Donald, but you think money grows on bushes. The way you throw it away, you—”
The nurse held out her hand as Bertha Cool was striding out of the door. “Good-by, Mrs. Cool, and good luck.”
“Good-by,” Bertha said, without looking back. She went marching down the corridor at double-quick.
I said, “He isn’t charging us for waiting time.”
“Oh,” she said, and slowed her pace.
We went down the stairs, and the taxi driver took Bertha’s bag.
“Airport?” he asked.
“Airport,” I said.
Bertha settled back against the cushions. “What about that Gilman case, Donald?”
“It’s closed.”