I gave Jones a week to grapple with the new developments, and then
happened along. The anteroom was full, and there was a queue down the
street like a line of music-loving citizens waiting to hear Patti.
Nice, decent-looking people, with money in their hands. (I always like
to see a cash business, don't you?) I guess it took me an hour to crowd
my way up stairs, and even then I had to buy a man out of the line.
Jones was carrying off the boom more quietly than I cared about. He wore
a curt, snappy air. I don't know why, but I felt misgivings as I shook
hands with him.
Of course I commented on the rush.
"The Lord only knows what's happened to my practice," he said. "The
blamed thing has gone up like a rocket. It seems to me there must be a
great wave of sickness passing over New York just now."
"Everybody's complaining," I said.
This reminded him of my insomnia till I cut him short.
"What's the matter with our going down to the Van Coorts' from Saturday
to Tuesday," I said. "They haven't given up the hope of seeing you
there, Doctor, and the thing's still open.
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