“I’m the manager and the whole works combined,” 105 he said. “I need a dish-washer, come to think of it. Four a week and board. You can go to work to-day if––”
But Harvey stalked out, swinging his cane manfully.
“Well, God knows I’ve tried hard enough,” he said to himself, resignedly, as he headed for the railway station. It was still six minutes of train time. “I’ll write to Mr. Davis out in Blakeville this evening. He told me that my place would always be open to me.”
It was nearly one o’clock when he appeared at Nellie’s apartment. Rachel admitted him. He hung his hat and coat on the rack, deposited his cane in the corner, and sauntered coolly into the little sitting-room, the maid looking on in no little wonder and uneasiness.
“Where’s my wife?” he asked, taking up the morning paper from the centre table and preparing to make himself at home in the big armchair.
“She’s out to lunch, sir.”
He laid the paper down.
“Where?”
Rachel mentioned a prominent downtown café affected by the profession. 106
“Will you have lunch here, sir?” she inquired.