“Just as I was leaving the office. I looked in 99 there on––on my way back. I saw no use in telephoning then. What is it, dear?”
“It’s too late now. You have ruined my day.”
“Sorry. What is too late?”
“I wanted you to go to Amityville with me; there is a wonderful astrologer there who casts life horoscopes. He predicted this whole war and the Bolsheviki and bombs and everything, and I wanted him to do ours. Alice Twill says he is positively uncanny.”
Steve shook his head. “No long-haired cocoanut throwers for mine,” he said, briefly, unfolding his paper.
“But I wanted you to go.”
“Well, I do not approve of such things; they are a waste of time and money.”
“I have my own money,” she informed him, curtly.
Steve laid aside the paper. “I have known that for some time.”
“Besides, it is rude to refuse to call me when I have asked you to do so. It makes me ridiculous in the eyes of your employees.”