"If I had known I'd have gone home and dressed up, too."
"Well, whatta you know about that?" exclaimed Mr. Barker, observing her up and down. "That there shroud you're wearing is as classy as anything I've seen up in the lobby or any place else, and I've been all round the woild some, too. I know the real thing from the seconds every time."
Miss Gertrude worked into her gloves.
"I guess it is more becoming for a girl like me to go plainly."
"Believe me, kiddo"—Mr. Barker placed his hand blinker-fashion against the side of his mouth, and his lips took on an oblique slant—"take it from me, kiddo, when it comes to real feet-on-the-fender comfort, a nineteen-fifty suit with a extry pair of pants thrown in can make this rig feel like a busted tire."
"Well, Mr. Barker, I'm ready if you are."
He swung one arm akimbo with an outward circular movement, clicked his heels together, and straightened his shoulders until his speckled white vest swelled.
"Hitch on, sis, and let's show Broadway we're in town!"
Gertrude took a pinch of sleeve between her gloved fingers; they fell into step. At the door she turned and nodded over one shoulder.
"Good night, Ethyl dear," she said, a trifle too sweetly.