“‘Same old story,’ was my remark. I was her husband’s lawyer. ‘Well, dear, how much do you suppose McCrory’s bill is for the last month?’ he would ask her. She would look thoughtful and say: ‘Oh, about fifteen hundred dollars.’ ‘My dear,’ he would go on, ‘it is ten thousand six hundred and forty-three dollars and twenty-four cents.’ ‘Oh, that’s impossible,’ she would answer. ‘There’s some mistake about it. I’ll never O.K. such a bill. It’s an outrage!’ But the bill was always right.
“‘I didn’t suppose you would know the lady––I haven’t mentioned her name,’ said the Doctor.
“‘I know her, but don’t worry––I shall not betray your confidence. I knew her husband. It wore him out looking after the charge-it department. Now she’s trying to get Harry Delance for his job.’
“‘She’s badly in need of a clerk,’ said the Doctor, ‘and I hope she gets one. He could look after the pimples as well as I can.’
“Many were getting ready for the ball, but this lady was the only one I knew of who had spent a hundred dollars for facial improvement. Harry, however, was about to spend a thousand dollars for the improvement of his conscience. It was one of the necessary expenses and it came about in this way:
“The day of the ball had arrived. Harry came to see me about noon. He said that he had been busy all the morning with preparations for the ball, but––
“He showed me a telegram. It was from Roger Daniels, and it said:
“‘The recent slump in the market has put 41 me in hell’s hole. Please wire one thousand dollars to Bridgeport, where I am hung up. If you do, I shall give you good collateral and eternal gratitude. If you don’t, we shall have to miss the ball. Please remember that I am waiting at the other end of the wire like a hungry cat at a mouse-hole.’
“Harry looked worried. The ball must come off, and, without Roger, it would be like Hamlet minus the melancholy Dane. It was a special compliment to Roger.