The manager recoiled; his startled eyes searched Briskow's face incredulously. "I—beg pardon?"
"I 'ain't heard my kid's side of the story yet, but I'm goin' to see her now, so you better get word to that jumpin' jack in a hurry. That is, if you want to save him."
"He is discharged, of course, for we tolerate no rudeness on the part of our employees—or our guests, for that matter; but I believe he is suffering some effects from the shock. I couldn't well ask him to go before—"
"It'll take me prob'ly twenty minutes, talkin' to my girl. That'll give him time, if he moves fast. But I may get through in fifteen."
At the door to his suite Gus Briskow paused to wipe his countenance clean of the expression it had worn for the last few minutes, and when he entered it was with his usual friendly smile. Allie and her mother were waiting; they were white and silent. Gus kissed his daughter before saying:
"Don't worry, honey; he won't bother you no more."
Allie averted her face. Mrs. Briskow inquired, "Did you see the skunk?"
"No. I give him a few minutes to clear out."
"Hadn't we better leave, too?" ventured Allie.
"Oh-h!" In Ma's eyes was such bleak dismay, such a piteous appeal, that
Gus shook his head.