“Of course. Shall we sit down—or would you rather go for a walk?”
“Oh, let’s sit down. We can hash things over easier that way.”
“Maybe,” suggested Marjorie, “it would be nicer up in my sitting-room. My room-mate’s out, so we’d be alone.”
“All right! Suits us,” agreed Gertie. “One place is as good as another.”
They ascended the stairway, Marjorie all the while racking her brains to decide upon the best manner in which to treat the subject. Gertie, however, was evidently not worried about such a detail, for she was too much concerned with the effort it required to ascend the steps.
“Should have thought you’d have an elevator,” she sneered. “If I’d a known what a climb it was, I’d just as soon stayed where we was.”
“I’m sorry,” apologized Marjorie, “but we never think of it—we’re so used to it. Of course there is an elevator, but nobody ever remembers to use it unless they’re sick or hurt.”
“Guess I’ll survive!” rejoined the other, more cheerfully.
Once they were in the room, Gertie plunged into a harangue against her patrol leader.
“Queenie Brazier thinks she’s some punkins to pull the wool over your eyes like she’s doin’, Miss Wilkinson. But I’m here to tell you that she ain’t a goin’ a get away with it, long as I’m around and she treats me like she done last night.