Beyond suggesting that a hundred dollars was a lot of money, Sam made no further attempt to secure his liberty that morning; but on the following day he discreetly called his daughter's attention to a full-page advertisement in the morning paper.
"Ain't you was telling me the other evening you need to got some table napkins, Babette?" he asked.
Babette nodded.
"Well, here it is in the paper that new concern, Weldon, Jones & Company, is selling to-day napkins at three dollars a dozen—the best damask napkins," he concluded.
Babette seized the paper and five minutes later she was poking hatpins into her scalp with an energy that made Sam's eyes water.
"Where are you going, Babette?" he said.
"I'm going downtown to that sale of linens," she said, "and I'll be back to take you out at one o'clock."
"Don't hurry on my account," Sam said. "I've got enough here in the paper to keep me busy until to-night yet."
Five minutes later the basement door banged and Sam jumped to his feet. With the agility of a man half his age he ran upstairs to the parlour floor and put on his hat and coat; and by the time Babette had turned the corner of Lenox Avenue Sam walked out of the areaway of his old-fashioned, three-story-and-basement, high-stoop residence on One Hundred and Eighteenth Street en route for Mrs. Schrimm's equally old-fashioned residence on One Hundred and Twenty-seventh Street. There he descended the area steps; and finding the door ajar he walked into the basement dining-room.
"Wie gehts, Mrs. Schrimm!" he cried cheerfully.