Here Dorothy, her anger rising interrupted:
“You would better not. Mrs. Winthrop White, of North Birchland, is a charge customer of your store, and is probably just as well known to the heads of the firm as this—this person,” and she cast what Tavia—in another mood—would have called a “scathing glance” at Mrs. Halbridge.
“I am Mrs. White’s niece and this is my particular friend. We are here alone on a shopping tour; but if our word is not quite as good as that of this—this person, we certainly shall buy elsewhere.”
Tavia, obsessed with a single idea, murmured again:
“But I haven’t got my bag! Somebody’s taken my bag! And all my money——”
The floorwalker was glancing about, hoping for some avenue of escape from the unfortunate predicament, when a very tall, white-haired and soldierly looking man appeared in the aisle.
“Mr. Schuman!” gasped the floorwalker.
The man was one of the chief proprietors of the big store. He scowled slightly at the floorwalker when he saw the excited crowd, and then raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“This is not the place for any lengthy discussion, Mr. Mink,” said Mr. Schuman, with just the proper touch of admonition in his tone.
“I know! I know, Mr. Schuman!” said the floorwalker. “But this difficulty—it came so suddenly—Mrs. Halbridge, here, makes the complaint,” he finally blurted out, in an attempt to shoulder off some of the responsibility for the unfortunate situation.