“Not book—HOOK. H-O-O-K! Oh, great Scott! Hook! HOOK! Hook for a door! And she wants you to hurry.”
“Eh? Well, I can't hurry now for nobody. I got to load these laths and that's all there is to it. Can't you wait on him?” Evidently the customer's sex had not yet been made clear to the Price understanding. “You can get a hook for him, can't ye? You know where they be, I showed ye. Ain't forgot so soon, 'tain't likely.”
The head disappeared behind the “two by fours.” Its face was red, but no redder than Mr. Speranza's at that moment.
“Fool rube!” he snorted, disgustedly.
“Excuse me, but you've dropped your cigarette,” observed the young lady.
Albert savagely slammed down the window and turned away. The dropped cigarette stump lay where it had fallen, smudging and smelling.
His caller looked at it and then at him.
“I'd pick it up, if I were you,” she said. “Cap'n Snow HATES cigarettes.”
Albert, his dignity and indignation forgotten, returned her look with one of anxiety.
“Does he, honest?” he asked.