A thin young man, with a pasty face and a slight stoop, opened the door.
The old ruffian raised a stubby finger. "Purdy, a cheque for a thousand
dollars, to the order of Bianca Paliser, is to be mailed to this lady
to-night."
"But, Mr. Dunwoodie!" Cassy exclaimed.
"You must allow me to be your banker," he told her, and turned again to
the clerk. "Get Mr. Jeroloman. Say, with my compliments, I shall be
obliged if he will look in here. And, Purdy, see to it that that cheque
is attended to. Mrs. Paliser will give you her address."
"But, Mr. Dunwoodie!" Cassy exclaimed again, as the sallow youth went
out.
To distract her attention, instantly Jones improvised a limerick. "There
was a young man named Purdy, who was not what you'd call very sturdy. To
be more of a sport, he drank gin by the quart, and danced on a
hurdy-gurdy."
"You're insane," announced Cassy, who was a trifle demented herself.
Dunwoodie extracted his towel. "Jeroloman is the attorney for the other
side. He will want to meet Mrs. Paliser, but that honour will not be his
to-day."
Cassy stood up. "I should hope not. He would be the last camel on the
straw--I mean the last straw on the camel."
Dunwoodie, rising also, gave her his fine bow and to Jones a hand.
Then as the two made for the door, from over her shoulder she smiled
back at him.
"My grandmother could not have been nicer."
"What do you mean by that?" Jones absently inquired.
But, in the rotunda now, Mr. Purdy was asking her address. If he had
dared he would have followed her there. Fortune favouring, he would have
followed her to the ends of the earth. It was what one of our allies
calls the thunderbolt. Never before had he beheld such a face. Earnestly
he prayed that he might behold it again. Allah is great. The prayer was
granted.
In the canon below, Jones, as he piloted her to the subway, pulled at
his gloves.
"If I had the ability, I would write an opera, call it 'Danae' and
offer you the title-role."