his hands on the table, and leaned across toward where I sat. That half-quizzical smile was no longer on his face. But it was not exactly surprise that he showed. It seemed to me more like consternation, for his eyes narrowed, as though he were in a brown study. I would have laughed, only the sternness of his face rather frightened me.
"How did you get that stuff?" he asked.
Most men would have asked me where I got it. But my Hero-Man was not like most men.
"How did you get that stuff?" he repeated, as he sank back into his chair. I had the club-bag on the table by this time, and gave him the full benefit of the string of pearls that looked as though a white leghorn had laid them. Beside them, on the table-cloth, I put a sunburst of diamonds that gave me the prairie-squint to look at in the strong light. And next came a ruby pendant, of one big stone that looked like the tail-light of the Twentieth Century Limited surrounded by about a dozen emeralds, and next the lavaliere that was long enough to hang a family washing on.
"You can't call me a piker, at any rate!" I said, with all the audacity that I could screw up. For the eyes of my Hero-Man were actually beginning to disturb me.
