"Wait a minute." Ida, with bedroom slippers clattering, hurried back to her room, returned with a bottle of bromo seltzer and in the bathroom fixed Susan a dose. "You'll feel all right in half an hour or so. Gee, but you're swell—with your own bathroom."
Susan shrugged her shoulders and laughed.
Ida shook her head gravely. "You ought to save your money. I do."
"Later—perhaps. Just now—I must have a fling."
Ida seemed to understand. She went on to say: "I was in millinery. But in this town there's nothing in anything unless you have capital or a backer. I got tired of working for five per, with ten or fifteen as the top notch. So I quit, kissed my folks up in Harlem good-by and came down to look about. As soon as I've saved enough I'm going to start a business. That'll be about a couple of years—maybe sooner, if I find an angel."
"I'm thinking of the stage."
"Cut it out!" cried Ida. "It's on the bum. There's more money and less worry in straight sporting—if you keep respectable. Of course, there's nothing in out and out sporting."
"Oh, I haven't decided on anything. My head is better."
"Sure! If the dose I gave you don't knock it you can get one at the drug store two blocks up Sixth Avenue that'll do the trick. Got a dinner date?"
"No. I haven't anything on hand."