McNabb reached for the telephone and called a number. "Hello! Is that
you, Jean? Come to the store at once, and bring your new fur coat--to
my office. . . . What? No, that won't do, at all. Bring it
yourself--I'm waitin'."
"I'll step outside while Jean--while Miss McNabb----"
"Ye'll stay where ye are!" snapped McNabb.
The older man turned to his desk, where for ten minutes he opened and
closed drawers and rustled papers viciously. Then the door opened and
Jean herself stepped into the room with the fur coat over her arm.
"Well, Dad, here's the coat." She paused abruptly, glanced inquiringly
at Hedin, nodded coolly, and continued, "Oskar said it needed a little
tailoring, and that I was to bring it down this morning, but I didn't
think there was any tearing hurry about it."
Her father took the garment, smoothed the fur with his hand, and asked
casually, "Is this the coat ye wore from the store?"
"Why, of course it is."
"An' the one ye wore to the show?"
"Yes, yes," answered the girl impatiently. "I haven't so many fur
coats that I would be apt to get them mixed."
McNabb ignored the impatience. "Ye've had no other coat in your
possession since you selected this one?"
"No, I haven't. What's all this about?"
"Did Oskar tell you what kind of a coat you were gettin'?"
"Yes, a baum marten. Why, isn't it a baum marten?"
McNabb nodded.
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