She came out from her drawing room; her face was unsmiling.
“Jeffords,” she said to the butler, “what does he want?”
“I told him you were not at home, madam,” the butler said.
“Mrs. Wilmerding,” broke in Joey, “I gotta get to Hoboken—quick—see?—and I thought you could help me.”
“I advise you to apply to the Veteran’s Charity Bureau, in Madison Avenue,” she said, and shut the door.
Joey stood on the steps for two precious minutes. He wondered what he had done to offend her. But he knew he had no time to puzzle it out. He again started down the Avenue. And again he noticed that the faces of those who passed him were uninterested, without friendliness.
Out of the sea of faces swam a familiar one—Peggy Sturgis.
He saluted her and said, “Hello, Miss Sturgis. Well, I’m off.”
She did not return his salutation; she looked at him queerly, as if there were something curious about him.
“I beg your pardon?” she said.