eedin'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----"

"Yes, I know," says Evelyn. "Mr. Steele has been talking to me about
it."

"Has, eh?" says Gerald. "Well, I trust it wasn't you who gave him that
idea about keeping me in this fool business for the rest of my life.
Ugh! Talking sappy to an endless stream of silly women, palming off on
them such useless junk as this! Look at it! Egyptian scarabs, made in
Connecticut; Ceylonese coral, from North Attleboro, Mass.; Bohemian
glassware, from Sandsburg, Pa.; Indian baskets woven by the Papago
tribe, meaning Rutherford, N. J. Bah! For nearly twelve years I've been
doing this. And you're to blame for it, you and Irene and Georgianna.
You got me into it when I could find nothing else to do, and then
somehow I couldn't seem to get out. Lying and smirking and dickering
day after day--sickening! But I'm through. And just as a relief to my
feelings I'm going to finish off a lot of this rubbish before I go.
Watch!"

With that he picks a teapot from our table, balances it careful in one
hand, and sends it bang at a shelf full of blue and yellow pitchers.

Crash! Smash! Tinkle-tinkle!

It was a good shot. He got three or four of 'em at one clip.

Next he reaches for the sugar bowl and chucks that. More crash. More
tinkle-tinkle. This time it was sort of a side-wipin' blow, and a full
half-dozen fancy cream jugs bit the dust.

"Good eye!" says I, chucklin'. Even J. Bayard has to grin.

As for Sister Evelyn, she says never a word, but braces herself against
a table and grips her hands together, like she was preparin' to have a
tooth out. The dumpy waitress clutches the haughty one around the waist
and breathes wheezy.

"Vases!" says Gerald, scowlin' at a shelf. "Silly vases!"

And with that he ups with a chair, swings it over his shoulder, and mows
down a whole row of 'em. They goes crashin' onto the floor.

"Muh Gord!" gasps the dumpy tea juggler.

"Clean alley! Set 'em up on the other!" I sings out.

But Gerald is too busy to notice side remarks. His thin face is flushed
and his eyes sparkle. Peelin' off the cutaway, he tosses it careless on
a table.

"Look out for sp