“Your advice is good, Mr. Bird, and I am much obliged to you for it; but if I see another good thing going to waste I should feel sorry to let it get away from me.”
“Good things are not handed out to the public, Jack. You came by the L. S. tip through sheer horse luck—a chance in a million.”
Jack made no answer to that, but took his leave soon, after promising to dine with Mr. Bird the next evening at Sherry’s.
On the way back to the office our young messenger boy bought a nice bunch of violets, which he artfully attached to Millie’s Remington while she was taking down the final dictation of the day in Mr. Atherton’s room.
“Where did these come from?” she asked Jack, who was perched over in the corner, reading a copy of that week’s “Financial Chronicle,” as she reseated herself at the machine.
The sly puss knew pretty well who had bought them, but that was one of her little coquetries.
“I think it was that dude that was in here the other day that brought them expressly for you. He works upstairs, you know,” replied Jack, smothering a grin.
Before she could reply, in walked that self-same dude, Percy Chamberlain, with a duplicate bunch of violets.
And straightway he pranced up to Millie and held out the flowers, with a low bow.
“Will you accept these flowers, Miss Price? Bought them expressly for you, don’t you know.”