“Oh!” The proprietor looked blank. “’Spose we make it twenty-five?”
“Nothing doing.”
“How about thirty dollars?” persisted the man. “Oh, I’m no piker,” observing Rodgers’ expression. “When I want a thing I am willing to pay for it.”
“And just why do you want this coat so particularly?” asked Rodgers, his suspicion aroused.
“I told you my wife wants that coat.”
“Well, she can’t have it.” Rodgers released the clutch and the car shot down the Avenue, leaving the dealer in second-hand clothes standing with mouth agape, gesticulating wildly after him.
It was but a short distance to the Bachelor where he had an apartment, and Rodgers paid small regard to traffic regulations until he reached there. He wasted some valuable moments in finding parking space near the building and he was in no amiable frame of mind when he finally hurried through the swing door of the front entrance. The elevator boy was nowhere visible and Rodgers collected his letters from his mail box; then, tucking the red coat under his arm, he went over to the staircase and mounted it two steps at a time until he reached the third floor. As he turned his latch-key and threw open the door of his apartment he heard his name called and whirled around. Ben Potter was walking toward him from the direction of the elevator shaft.
“Glad I caught you, Ted,” he remarked, ignoring Rodgers’ curt manner. Not waiting for an invitation, he stepped into the apartment and walked through the short hall into the large room which served Rodgers as a combination living and dining room. “I came to apologize for my surly behavior in Craige’s office this morning, old man.”
“Your apology is due to Miss Baird rather than to me,” replied Rodgers stiffly.
“I spoke in haste—without thought,” Potter admitted amiably. “Let’s drop the matter, Ted. Can you dine with us to-night? I’ll get Kitty to come also.”