“And this?”
“Strike me blind, what a ’ell of an ’ole,” thought Andy.
“Buttons,” he responded desperately without looking at the paper.
Connie raised her head. “Oh no, I don’t think so, Andy; that must slip on,” she objected.
Andy made a pretence of studying the article in question.
“Yes, yes, sure! That’s right! that’s right!” he conceded quickly.
Andy’s pipe was now sending out billows of acrid smoke. Connie coughed and moved beyond the smoke screen. Much to Andy’s relief, she sat for a moment silently studying the advertisement. When she raised her golden head there was a look of wistful yearning in her blue eyes.
“Oh, Andy,” she said dreamily, “it must be lovely to feel those soft silky things next your skin.”
“I’m—I’m sorry, Connie,” stuttered Andy, “but I ’ave a roast in the oven—I——”
“Just a minute, Andy,” she pleaded, “there is something else I want to ask you.” She sorted the papers for a moment.