“Oh Lord! I never thought of it. She said she had a birthday next week.”
“She said, yes, she said, but that ain’t any proof to me; I never saw an old girl pull herself together in a neater manner; she even went so far as to buy a tie pin on the strength of it. But, mark my words, Mr. Alfred Whittaker won’t thank you for letting on to that lady that he was here last week buying that bracelet.”
“If I thought that,” said Mr. Johnson, “I’d put my head straight in a bag.”
“If it had been me,” said the other, “being a youngster I might have been excused, but an old hand like you—tittle-tattling about other customers’ purchases—you ought to know better.”
“You are quite right; I deserve anything that may come of it; I don’t think that I have ever done such an idiotic thing in my life. What can I do to make up for it?”
“Nothing,” said the other. “If anything is said, swear that Mr. Whittaker told you that the present was for his wife.”
“I think he did.”
“That’s as may be. Anyway, stick to it through thick and thin that he mentioned that it actually was for his wife.”
“Well, don’t tell any of the others, Dick.”