He was looking over her head and watching the man with the cornet rubbing up the brass with his handkerchief.
“You are not listening to me.”
“Yes, I am; I heard every word you said. How much would it cost to get your jewels out?”
“Only $125. It might not be much for you, but it’s a lot for me.”
Here was the climax, so far as her story was concerned. She could have repeated those three figures long before, but she wasn’t ready. She was waiting for the psychological moment and it had arrived. The picture was made and the hand was ready.
And now your attention is respectfully called to Fate, the intruder; the upsetter of carefully laid plans; the wrecker; sometimes the promoter, because it does as many things for good as it does for bad. In this case, however, it was good and bad, according to the viewpoint.
“If you wouldn’t mind I’ll get them out for you. Let’s go now,” he said.
She leaned back in her chair and smiled at him—a smile of happiness and success; the smile of a child when it gets its first Christmas doll; and then she drew a deep breath. Still smiling, her eyes half closed, she looked at him through the narrow slits and contemplated the possibilities of the future. There was no hurry and she could afford to wait, for she had won out.
A woman, coarse of feature and with fright depicted on her face, came hurrying in. She saw the girl at one end of the room and ran to her.
“Jennie, for God’s sake, come quick; your Billy’s just been pinched on the corner.”