“Oh, I wasn’t annoyed in the least,” Mrs. Breel remarked casually. “My niece, unfortunately, is sensitive about what people think. Perhaps super-sensitive. Personally, I don’t give a hoot. I live my life the way I want, and... Ah, here comes the man with the things. Just put the packages on that chair, young man.”
“How much does it amount to?” Virginia asked.
“Thirty-seven dollars and eighty-three cents, with the tax,” the assistant manager said with dignity.
Virginia wrote out a check. As she entered the figures on the stub and performed the subtraction, Mason’s eyes, actuated by a curiosity which was stronger than the conventions, glanced swiftly at the figures. He saw that after the check had been paid there was a balance of but twenty-two dollars and fifteen cents in account.
Virginia Trent handed the manager the check.
“If you’ll kindly step down to the office,” he said, “and fill out a credit card.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Mrs. Breel interposed. “We’ll be right here, eating lunch for the next half hour. The bank is in the next block. You can send over and have the check cashed... I hope you’ve wrapped the bundle securely, young man. It’s raining outside.”
The manager said suavely, “I believe you’ll find the wrapping is quite satisfactory.” He glanced at Perry Mason. “I notice,” he said with dignity, “that you have consolidated your party, Mr. Mason. May I inquire if there’s any intention on your part to file a suit against the store?”
Mrs. Breel answered the question. “No,” she said magnanimously, “I’m quite willing to let bygones be bygones. I think you were frightfully rude... Here comes the waitress with my soup. If you’ll kindly step back so she can serve me... Thank you.”
The manager bowed affably. There was the hint of a twinkle in his eyes. “If you find any of these things not entirely satisfactory, Mrs. Breel,” he said, “remember we’ll be glad to exchange them. Perhaps your shopping was somewhat hurried, and you didn’t get just the exact sizes required...”