The alarm-clock in Gilfoyle's head woke him at seven. He hated to
interrupt Kedzie's sleep, but he was afraid of his boss and he needed
his salary more than ever--twice as much as ever. He telephoned from
his room to Kedzie's room down the street and up ten stories and was
comforted to find that he woke her out of a sleep so sound that he
could hardly understand her words. But he eventually made sure that
she would make haste to dress and meet him in the restaurant.
They breakfasted together at half past eight. Kedzie was aglow with
the whole procedure.
"You ought to write a novel about us," she told Gilfoyle. "It would
be a lot better than most of the awful stories folks write nowadays.
And you'd make a million dollars, I bet. We need a lot of money now,
too, don't we?"
"A whole lot," said Gilfoyle, who was beginning to fret over the
probable cost of the breakfast.
It cost more than he expected--as he expected. But he was in for it,
and he trusted that the Lord would provide. They bought a ring at
a petty jewelry-shop in Forty-second Street and then descended to
a Subway express and emerged at the Brooklyn Bridge Station.
The little old City Hall sat among the overtowering buildings like
an exquisite kitten surrounded by mastiffs, but Gilfoyle's business
took him and his conquest into the enormous Municipal Building,
whose windy arcades blew Kedzie against him with a pleasant clash.
The winds of life indeed had blown them together as casually as
two leaves met in the same gutter.
Pages:
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152