The waiter murmured the amount, but not so softly but that Mrs. Toomey paled when she heard it. He had not enough to pay it, she was sure of it, for while he had brought from the room an amount that would have been ample for any ordinary theater supper, wine had not been in his calculations.
Mrs. Toomey looked on anxiously while he produced the contents of his pocket.
"Sorry, sir, but it isn't enough," said the waiter, after counting the notes he tossed upon the plate. Toomey found the discovery amusing. "You s'prise me," he chuckled. "Sorry, sir, but — " the waiter persisted. With a swift transition of mood Toomey demanded haughtily: "Gue'sh you don' know who I am? " " No, sir." Toomey tapped the lapel of his jacket impressively with his forefinger. "I'm Jasper Toomey of Prouty, Wyoming." The waiter received the information without flinching. "Call up the Blackstone and they'll tell you I'll be in to-morra an' shettle." He wafted the waiter away grandly, that person shrugging a dubious shoulder as he vanished. "They'll tell 'im the f'ancial standin' of Jasper Toomey—shirtingly."
The waiter returned almost immediately.
"The hotel knows you only as a guest, sir."
"Thish is insult — d'lib'rate insult." Mr. Toomey rose to his feet and stood unsteadily. "Send manager to me immedially—immedially! "
"He's busy, sir," replied the waiter with a touch of impatience, "but he said you'd have to settle before leaving.
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