It
was by intention the one that carried the purple monogram.
"Sewed on, like that!" he added almost sharply.
Breede seemed to be impressed by the exhibit.
"Well," he began, awkwardly, as a man knowing himself in the wrong but
still defiant, "I won't do it. _That's_ all! Not for anybody."
Still, he seemed to consider that something more than mere apparent
perverseness would become him.
"They get down 'round m' hands all the time. Can't think when they get
down that way. Bother me. Take m' mind off. I won't do it, that's all. I
don't care. Not for anybody't all!" He replaced the cuff beside its
mate. He seemed to be saying that he had settled the matter--and no good
talking any more about it.
Bean was silent and dignified. His own air seemed to disclose that when
once you warned people in plain words, you could no longer be held
responsible. For a moment they made a point of ignoring the larger
matter.
"Say," Breede suddenly exploded, "I wish you'd tell me just how many
kinds of a--no matter! Where was I? This reserve fund may be subject to
draft f'r repairs an' betterment durin' 'suin' quarter or 'ntil such
time as--"
The telephone again rang its alarm. Breede took the receiver and allowed
dismay to be read on his face as he listened.
"Well, well, well," he at length began, soothingly, "go lie down; take
something; take _something_; well, send over t' White Plains f'r s'more.
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