"
"Oh, run along!" scoffed Miss Weinstein. "A person would
think you had a husband to get a grouch every time you get reckless
to the extent of a new waist. You're your own boss. And you know
your credit's good. Honestly, it would be a shame to let this
chance slip. You're not getting tight in your old age, are you?"
"N-no," faltered Effie, "but----"
"Then come on," urged Miss Weinstein energetically. "And be
thankful you haven't got a man to raise the dickens when the bill
comes in."
"Do you mean that?" asked Effie slowly, fixing Miss Weinstein
with a thoughtful eye.
"Surest thing you know. Say, girlie, let's go over to Klein's
for lunch this noon. They have pot roast with potato pfannkuchen
on Tuesdays, and we can split an order between us."
"Hold that waist till to-morrow, will you?" said Effie. "I've
made an arrangement with a--friend that might make new clothes
impossible just now. But I'm going to wire my party that the
arrangement is all off. I've changed my mind. I ought to get an
answer to-morrow. Did you say it was a thirty-six?"
VII
MAYMEYS FROM CUBA
There is nothing new in this. It has all been done before. But
tell me, what is new? Does the aspiring and perspiring summer
vaudeville artist flatter himself that his stuff is going big?
Then does the stout man with the oyster-colored eyelids in the
first row, left, turn his bullet head on his fat-creased neck to
remark huskily to his companion:
"The hook for him.
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