His involuntary shrug of his narrow shoulders in his poor coat spoke as loudly as words.
Carroll was directly conscious in an odd, angry, contemptuous sort of fashion, and whether because of himself, or of that other man, or of an overruling Providence, he would have been puzzled to say, of his own outer garment of the finest cloth and most irreproachable make. “As soon as I can manage it, every cent,” he repeated, almost mechanically, and took another sip of his soup. The young fellow's winking eyes, full of tears, were putting him to an ignominious torture.
The two girls had stood close behind the young man, waiting their turns. Now the younger stepped forward, and she spoke quite audibly in her high-pitched voice.
“Good-morning, Mr. Carroll,” said she, with a strained pertness of manner.
“Good-morning,” Carroll returned, politely. He half arose from the table.
The girl giggled nervously. Her pretty, even beautiful face, under her crest of blond hair and the scoop of a bright red hat, paled and flushed. “Oh, don't stop your luncheon,” said she. “Go right on. I just wanted to ask if you could possibly—”
“I am very sorry,” Carroll replied, “but to-day it is impossible; but in the end you shall not lose one dollar.”
The girl pouted. Her beauty gave her some power of self-assertion, although in reality she was of an exceedingly mild and gentle sort.
“That is very well,” said she, “but how long do you think it will be before we get to the end, Mr. Carroll?”
“I hope not very long,” Carroll said, with a miserable patience.