“Bad luck,” I said, and started for the door.
I could feel her standing at the counter, staring at me, wistful and indignant at the same time, but I didn’t look back.
I walked over to the hotel. The clerk told me long distance was calling. I went to my room, got on the line, and after a ten-minute wait heard Bertha Cool’s voice. She was putting on her best wheedling act. “Donald, darling,” she said, “you mustn’t ever do that again.”
“Do what?”
“Walk out on Bertha in a huff.”
“I had work to do,” I said. “I went out and did it. There’d been too much delay as it was. After this, when a telegram comes in collect, addressed to me, pay for it.”
“I will, Donald,” she said. “Bertha was in an awful temper. Some little thing had gone wrong and thrown her all out of balance.”
“Did you,” I asked, “ring me up long distance to tell me about your temper?”
“No, lover. I wanted to tell you that you were right.”
“What about?”