“Yes.”
“Mrs. Cass’s empty.”
This unfortunate condition of Mrs. Cass did not floor Jones.
“She was yesterday,” said he, “but I have taken the front parlour and a bed-room this afternoon.”
“That’s true,” said a fat woman, “I saw the gentleman go in with his luggage.”
In any congregation of people you will always find a liar ready to lie for fun, or the excitement of having a part in the business on hand; failing that, a person equipped with an imagination that sees what it pleases.
This amazing statement of the fat woman almost took Jones’ breath away. But there are other people in a crowd beside liars.
“Why can’t the gentleman leave the sovereign with the driver and get the change in the morning?” asked one of the weedy looking men. This scarecrow had not said a word to anyone during the drive. He seemed born of mischance to live for that supreme moment, diminish an honest man’s ways of escape, and wither.
Jones withered him:
“You shut up,” said he. “It’s no affair of yours—cheek.” Then to the driver: “You know my address, if you don’t trust me you can come back with me and get change.”