“I said come down to the office.”
Once more the girl indicated her open checkbook. “I’ve repeatedly tried to tell this man,” she said, “that my aunt has merely been shopping. If you’ll be so good as to give me the total amount of her purchases, I’ll gladly make out a check.”
The manager glanced from the placid face of the unperturbed woman to the girl, then to the urbane lawyer. He took a deep breath, accepted defeat, and bowed as he said, “I’ll have these purchases wrapped. Shall we deliver them, Madam, or would you prefer to take them with you?”
“Just wrap them and bring them here,” the white-haired woman said, “and if you’re the manager, will you kindly tell one of the waitresses to give this table some attention... Ah, there you are, my dear. I think we’ll have two cream of tomato soups, and I want chicken croquettes. What would you like, Ginny?”
The young woman, her cheeks crimson, shook her head and said, “I can’t eat a thing, Aunt Sarah.”
“Nonsense, Ginny! You mustn’t let yourself be disturbed by little things. The man was clearly in error. He’s admitted his fault.” She raised her eyes to Perry Mason. “And I believe, young man, I’m somewhat obligated to you. I’ll take one of your cards, if you don’t mind.”
Mason smiled, glanced at Della Street as he passed over one of his cards. “I wonder,” he said, “if you wouldn’t care to join us at our table. We could make a foursome. And,” he added, lowering his voice, and glancing at the young woman, “you might feel less conspicuous.”
“We’ll be glad to,” the white-haired woman said, pushing back her chair. “Permit me to introduce myself. I’m Mrs. Sarah Breel. This is Miss Virginia Trent, my niece. You’re Perry Mason, the lawyer. I’ve read of you, Mr. Mason. I’m very glad to meet you.”
“Miss Della Street, my secretary,” Mason introduced.
Della extended her hand. “So glad to meet you,” she said.