"Away out, hey?" says I. "You're wrong, son. We're the ones that are out, but we ain't goin' to be out another cent's wuth. Come on, boys, we'll find him."
You can see I was mighty mad, or I wouldn't have been so reckless. I walked acrost that dinin'-room and flung open the office door. Frank himself wa'n't there, but who should be settin' at his roll-top desk, but the fleshy, dark-complected stewardess woman. She glowered at me, ugly as a settin' hen.
"This is a private room," she snaps.
"I know, ma'am," says I; "but the business we've come on is sort of private, too. Come in, boys."
The seven of 'em come in and they filled that office plumb full. The stewardess woman's black eyes opened and then shut part way. But there was fire between the lashes.
"What do you mean by comin' in here?" says she. "And what do you want?"
The rest of the fellers looked at me, so I answered.
"Ma'am," says I, "we don't want nothin' of you and we're sorry to trouble you. We've come to see Mr. Frank on a matter of business, important business—that is, it's important to us."
"Mr. Frank is out," says she. "You must call again. Good day."
She turned back again to the desk, but none of us moved.