“Where'ur they at? Where are the folks?” he shouted back to the butler who was coming after him with menace in his eye.
“What is the matter, Morris? What is all this noise about?” came a lady's voice in pettish tones from up above somewhere. “Didn't I tell you that I wouldn't see another one of those dreadful people to-day?”
Billy located her smooth old childish face at once and strode to the foot of the stairs peering up at the lady, white with pain from his contact with the butler, but alert now to the task before him:
“Say, Miz Shaf't'n, I got yer jools, would ya mind takin' 'em right now? 'Cause I'm all in an' I wantta get home.”
His head was going around now like a merry-go-round, but he steadied himself by the bannister:
“Why, what do you mean?” asked the lady descending a step or two, a vision of marcelled white hair, violet and lace negligee, and well preserved features, “You've got them there? Let me see them.”
“He's been drinking, Sarah, can't you smell it?” said a man's voice higher up, “Come away and let Morris deal with him. Really Sarah, we'll have to go away if this keeps up.”
“Say, you guy up there, just shut yer trap a minute won't ya! Here, Miz Shaf't'n, are these here yours?”
Billy struggled with the neck of his blouse and brought forth the leather bag, gripped the knot fiercely in his teeth, ran his fingers in the bag as he held it in his mouth, his lamed arm hanging at his side, and drew forth the magnificent pearls.
“William! My pearls!” shrieked the lady.