"It's a great Game, all right," he said, "if you don't weaken!" He pulled my ears. "But why in the world, Ruthy——" he worried, "did she have to go and tuck that forty-three cents on to the end of the bill?"
"Why, that's her profit!" I explained.
"Her—profit?" gasped the Rich Man. "Her Profit?"
"Why, she had to have something!" I explained. "She was planning to have more, of course! She was planning to go to Atlantic City! But everything costs so big! Even toys! It's——"
"Her Profit?" gasped the Rich Man. "Forty-three cents on a two hundred dollar deal?" He began to laugh! And laugh! "And she calls herself a Business Woman?" he said. "Why, she ought to be in an Asylum!—All women, in fact, ought to be in Asylums—or else in homes of their own!" Quite furiously he began to pull my ears all over again. "Business Woman," he said. "And both her feet would go at once in the hollow of my hand! Business Woman!"
Out in the roadway suddenly somebody sneezed.
It made the Rich Man jump awfully.
"Ruthy, stay where you are!" he ordered.
"I can't!" I called back. "I'm already hopped out!"
From my hop-out I could see the Person Who Sneezed! Anybody would have known that it was Posie-with-the-Sick-Bones! She was sitting in an automobile peering through the hedge! There was a black woman with her!