“Nope. No gloves tonight,” said the heavy-set man behind the desk.
“Oh. Well, I wondered — do you have a flashlight here that I could borrow? It was pretty dark in there and I may have missed it. It’s only been a couple of minutes — I doubt if anyone’s picked it up. And — well, you know how women are.”
The manager found a flashlight in a drawer and got up. “Nothing more annoying than losing one glove,” he said. “And nothing more useless than finding one. Why don’t women ever lose two gloves? That wouldn’t make ’em near as mad.”
Conway felt a little glow of pride in his psychology. Originally he had intended to lose a handkerchief, but when he had seen the extra pair of gloves in the drawer, he had remembered Helen’s irritation in the past when she had lost a glove. It was far more plausible that he be sent back to recover a glove than a handkerchief. The soundness of his reasoning had already been confirmed.
The manager carried the flashlight, and Conway led him to a seat three rows in front of the one he had occupied. “We were sitting right about here, I think,” he whispered. “On the aisle.”
The manager directed the light on the floor; Conway knelt and looked long and carefully. Then he moved to the row behind, and finally to the row where he had placed the glove. He rose, holding it triumphantly. The manager seemed almost as pleased as Conway.
In the lobby, Conway was voluble in his thanks. The manager was distressed at the amount of dirt which had managed to attach itself to the glove.
“We probably stepped on it, or kicked it, when we were coming out,” Conway said. “But it’ll wash out.” He folded the glove, put it in his pocket, and was about to leave when he caught sight of the popcorn stand.
“Think I’ll take some popcorn to my wife,” he said. “She loves it — and it might make her forget how long I’ve been gone.”
“Good idea,” said the manager. “Best popcorn in town.”