"I can give you a voucher for the whole amount," says Steele.
"Then—then please!" says Gerald, and he stands over J. Bayard, starin' eager, while the paper is bein' made out. He watches us both sign our names.
"This is drawn," says Steele, "on the attorney for the estate, and when you present it he will give you a check for——"
"Thanks," says Gerald, reachin' trembly for the voucher.
For a minute he stands gazin' at it before he stows it away careful in an inside vest pocket. Then all of a sudden he seems to straighten up. He squares his shoulders and stiffens his jaw.
"Evelyn!" he sings out. "Ho, Evelyn!"
It ain't any smooth, ladylike tone he uses, either. A couple of stout female parties, that's been toyin' with lobster Newburg patties and chocolate éclairs and gooseberry tarts, stops their gossipin' and glares round at him indignant.
"Evelyn, I say!" he goes on, fairly roarin' it out.
At that out comes Sister from behind her little coop lookin' panicky. Also in from the kitchen piles the haughty waitress with the mustard-tinted hair, and a dumpy, frowzy one that I hadn't noticed before. The haughty one glares at Gerald scornful, almost as if he'd been a customer.
"Why—why, Brother dear!" begins Evelyn, still holdin' open the novel she'd been readin'. "What is the matter?"