There was a long silence. The glistening finger nails fell to tapping again.
'This one, you say is—one hundred?'
'One hundred.'
Another silence. Then:—
'Thank you. I—I was just sorta looking around.'
The salesman began replacing the trays.
Henry moved away; slowly, irresolutely, at first; then, as he passed out the door, with increasing speed. At the corner of Randolph he was racing along. He caught the two-fourteen for Sunbury by chasing it the length of the platform. Henry could do the hundred yards under twelve seconds at any time with all his clothes on. He could do it under eleven on a track.
By a quarter to three he was walking swiftly, with dignity, up Simpson Street. He turned in at the doorway beside Hemple's meat-market and ran up the long stairway to the offices above.
Humphrey strolled in from the composing room.
'Seen those people already, Hen?'