Part 32 (1/2)

down in five years, at the end of ten, and so on, deductin' some for black times and makin' allowances for hard luck. But inside of five minutes we'd agreed on a lump sum.

”What about twenty thousand?” says I.

Gerald gulps once or twice, turns a little pale, and then asks choky, ”Would--would you put that in writing?”

”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 eclairs 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?”

”I'm through, that's all,” he announces crisp.

”You--you are what?” asks his sister.

”Through,” says Gerald loud and snappy. ”I'm going to quit all this--now, too. I'm going to close up, going out of the business.

Understand? So get those women out of here at once.”

”But--but, Gerald,” gasps Evelyn, ”they--you see they are----”

”I don't care whether they've finished or not,” says he. ”It doesn't matter. They needn't pay. But clear 'em out. Right away!”

She had big dark eyes, Sister Evelyn. She was thinner than Gerald, and a few years older, I should guess. Anyway, her hair showed more gray streaks. She had a soft, easy voice and gentle ways. She didn't faint, or throw any emotional fit. She just looks at Gerald mildly reproachful and remarks:

”Very well, Brother dear,” and then glides down the aisle to the two heavy-weight food destroyers.

We couldn't hear just what she told 'em, but it must have been convincin'. They gathers up their wraps and shoppin' bags and sails out, sputterin' peevish.

”Here, Celia!” commands Gerald, turnin' to the waitresses. ”You and Bertha pull down those front shades--tight, mind you! Then turn on the dome and side lights--all of 'em.”

We sat watchin' the proceedin's, Steele and me, with our mouths open, not knowin' whether to go or stay. Evelyn stands starin' at him too. In a minute, though, he whirls on her.

”You needn't think I've gone crazy, Evelyn,” he says. ”I was never more sane. But something has happened. I've just had a windfall. You'd never guess. From old Gordon; you remember, the beast who----”