"Do you mean," says he, "that Mr. Gordon intended to leave me something in his will; that he--er--considered I was entitled to some--ah----" "That's the idea, more or less," says I. "Only Mr. Steele here, he's been tryin' to dope out what would suit you best." "Could--could it be in the form of a--a cash sum?" asks Gerald. I sighs relieved and looks inquirin' at Steele. He nods, and I nods back. "Sure thing," says I. "How much?" demands Webb. "Time out," says I, "until Mr. Steele and I can get together." So while Gerald is pacin' nervous up and down between the tables we makes figures on the back of the menu. We begins by guessin' what he was gettin' when he was fired, then what salary he might have been pullin' 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!"