The Dawning of a Brighter Day
At seven-thirty of the same evening, Anthony was sitting on the floor of the front room of his apartment, with three books before him—a child again playing with his stamp-albums—when Gloria and Dick came in.
“Anthony!” she cried, “your grandfather has died and left you a hundred million bucks.”
“Go ’way,” he answered with petulant gentleness, “I’ve got a five-pistache stamp of Jugo-Rumania and there isn’t any place for it in the damned old book.”
“Jugo-Rumania!” gasped Dick. “Ain’t that the truth? The poor gink’s got ’em. He always was a wet one.”
“Never mind,” said glorious Gloria gently. “I’ll marry him and take him to Arabia where the gum comes from and you can get a decent drink. His trouble ain’t so much the humidity as the hooch.”