"Nonsense. You're a bit tight, that's all." He slipped the waiter a bank-note and motioned him away. "Now, let's go home, George."
"Yes, sir; he turned and walked out of the room, leaving all of us standing there," muttered George, with a mental leap backward. "I'll never forget it, long as I live. He simply scorned the whole lot of us. I went away as quickly as I could, but the others beat me to it. I left mother and Anne there all alone, just wandering around the room as if they were half-stunned. Never, never will I forget Anne's white, scared face, and I've never seen mother so helpless, either. Anne gripped, that big envelope so tight that it crumpled up into almost nothing. Mother took it away from her and opened it. Nobody was there but us three. I shan't tell you what was in the envelope. I'm not drunk enough for that."
"Never mind. It's immaterial, in any event." Simmy had called for his check.
George's mind took a new twist. Suddenly he sprang to his feet. "By the way, before I forget it, do you know where I can find Braden Thorpe?"
A black scowl disfigured his face. There was an ugly, ominous glare in his fast clearing eyes. Simmy, coming no higher than his shoulder, linked his arm through one of George's and started toward the door with him. He was headed for the porters' entrance.
"He's out of town, George. Don't bother about Braden."
"I'm going to kill Brady Thorpe, Simmy," said George hoarsely. Simmy felt the big right arm swell and become as rigid as steel.
"Don't talk like a fool," he whispered.
"He didn't act right by Anne," said George. "He's got to account to me. He's—"
They were in the narrow hallway by this time. Simmy called to a porter.