“Happy to have you eat or drink with me,” I added, coolly.
“I’m in a hurry, Mr. Glasswood.”
“Are you? Well, I’m sorry for that. We don’t live out more than half of our lives on account of always being in a hurry. By the way it seems to me very strange I forgot that little bill of yours. One hundred and sixty-two dollars, I think you said it was?”
“Sixty-two dollars, I said,” he answered as if congratulating himself that it was not the sum I named.
He took the bill from his pocket, and laid it on the table before me.
“Good!” said I, glancing at the document. “I’m a hundred dollars in. I was thinking you said it was a hundred and sixty-two.”
I intimated to the waiter that he might bring me a Charlotte Russe, and he removed the dishes from the table.
“I don’t like to hurry you, Mr. Glasswood, but I ought to be at the stable.”
“O, you are in a hurry! I had quite forgotten that you said so. Well, I will not keep you waiting,” I replied drawing my porte-monnaie from my pocket.