He proceeded to order with the casual ease of one who knows the chef’s best dishes. Sallie pulled off her gloves, crossed her arms on the table, leaned forward to listen with a kind of awe. He turned back and as he did so his glance fell on her hand. It riveted there, then slowly traveled upward accompanied by the same long low whistle he had emitted as they drove uptown.
“Whew, what a stone!”
“Yes,” replied Sallie. “It used to be my mother’s.”
He stared. After which came a knowing twinkle to his eyes and a laugh, equally knowing, to his lips. He said nothing.
“Honestly it was,” Sallie protested.
His stare probed her—then came a faint flash of resentment. “I wasn’t born yesterday—not quite,” he announced.
Tears started to Sallie’s eyes. “Please—please believe me!”
“Your mother owned a stone like that and you had to work in a department store?”
“It does sound funny. But it’s true! We never had any money after my father died. Nor before, either. He just saved and saved, and then when he was gone mother just spent and spent. She went crazy spending. She said he never gave us enough to eat when he was alive and she was going to make the best of it now that he was dead. So she went to the savings bank and took out every cent and had a wonderful time—for a while. [266] ]Hats and dresses and movies every night. She was awfully pretty—”
“I believe it,” came vehemently.