Hawker eventually appeared at a certain austere house where he rang the bell with quite nervous fingers.
But she was not at home. As he went down the steps his eyes were as those of a man whose fortunes have tumbled upon him. As he walked down the street he wore in some subtle way the air of a man who has been grievously wronged. When he rounded the corner, his lips were set strangely, as if he were a man seeking revenge.
CHAPTER XXIII.
"It's just right," said Grief.
"It isn't quite cool enough," said Wrinkles.
"Well, I guess I know the proper temperature for claret."
"Well, I guess you don't. If it was buttermilk, now, you would know, but you can't tell anything about claret."
Florinda ultimately decided the question. "It isn't quite cool enough," she said, laying her hand on the bottle. "Put it on the window ledge, Grief."
"Hum! Splutter, I thought you knew more than——"