“Look here, Jack,” said McGibney. “Who’s buying up all the things this lady looks at? Is it any particular party?”
“Come to think of it, it is,” answered the furniture man. “He’s the gent took the unfurnished rooms upstairs. ‘What’s he look like?’ Well, he bows most polite every time my wife waits on him and I see his head was some bald——”
“Wait for me!” said Clara. “Up on the next floor, you say? Just only wait one minute for me, Mrs. McGibney, and I’ll only go to tell him what I think of this latest meanness he’s playing me. Then I’ll be through with him forever. This is the last trick he’ll play me!” And she went to the stairs leading to the rooms over the store.
“It must be Tommy,” said McGibney.
“And I always took him for such a perfect little gentleman,” was Mrs. McGibney’s comment.
“Just wait a minute!” Clara had said; but, after several minutes, McGibney became uneasy.
“I’ll go up and see,” he said. “It maybe ain’t Tommy, and Clara may start mixing it with some stranger that’s got as much right to the furniture as her.”
But it was Tommy, for, as the McGibneys went up the stairs, Clara’s words, plainly audible, told them so.
“Never!” they heard—“Was it my dying day, I’d never forgive you. It was too cruel and I’ll never forget it.”
“Ain’t she the stubborn thing!” snapped Mrs. McGibney.