“If everybody in New York eats as often as we did last night, there ought to be a good chance for tea-rooms,” said Babbie, sipping her coffee meditatively.
“If it makes them feel so sleepy the next day, they won’t do it very often,” suggested Betty prudently.
“Yes, they will, but they’ll order breakfast at eleven instead of at ten,” amended Madeline. “Well, now,” she went on briskly, “how are we going to work? Having decided to start a tea-room, what does a person do next?”
“We have absolutely decided, haven’t we?” asked Betty, to make sure.
“Of course.” Madeline waved a hand at the huge box of china that an expressman had just delivered. “Coming over in the cab yesterday, Dick read the story I wrote on shipboard—the one I thought was going to make me a name instanter—and he says it’s amateurish. That’s the most hateful adjective in the language of Bohemia, and I’ll make him eat his words. But meanwhile I’ve got to eat something more sustaining than words, and I’ve spent all the money I had to live on this quarter. So I’ve got to get rid of that china. So we’ve got to take it for a tea-room.”
“If you think this tea-room is being started to confirm you in your extravagant habits, Madeline Ayres——” began Babbie, in mock indignation.
“HOW ARE WE GOING TO WORK?”
“Well, the point is that we’ve decided to start it,” pursued Madeline calmly, “and I might add that the china designated as my latest extravagance is likely to be its chief charm, if not exactly its reason for being. Now I should say the next question is where to have it. And as it’s such a glorious day, let’s go out and explore.”
The exploring expedition, being conducted by Madeline in true Bohemian style, bid fair to degenerate into a progressive course luncheon, leading from one of her favorite tea-shops to the next.