"It has the virtue of beginning with B, entitling it to a place well
toward the top of alphabetical lists. A very handy name for
patronesses at charity bazaars, and so forth. People never look below
B unless to make sure that their own names haven't been omitted. You
ought to take that into consideration. If you can't be an A, take the
next best thing offered. Be a B."
"You almost persuade me," she smiled.
His sister met them at the Grand Central Terminal.
"It's now a quarter to five," said Barnes, after the greeting and
presentation. "Drop me at the Fifth Avenue Bank, Edith. I want to
leave something in my safety box downstairs. Sha'n't be more than five
minutes."
He got down from the automobile at 44th Street and shot across the
sidewalk into the bank, casting quick, apprehensive glances through
the five o'clock crowd on the avenue as he sprinted. In his hand he
lugged the heavy, weatherbeaten pack. His sister and the Countess
stared after him in amazement.
Presently he emerged from the bank, still carrying the bag. He was
beaming. A certain worried, haggard expression had vanished from his
face and for the first time in eight hours he treated his travelling
wardrobe with scorn and indifference.
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