"Well, if you ain't sick, for Gawd's sake, where did you get the grouch?"
"I'm comin' in if you give me time. Where's my wrapper?"
They dined in a desultory sort of way, with Tillie up and down throughout the meal for a bread-knife, a cup of water, sugar for Angie's strong coffee.
"If you ain't feelin' good to-night I won't go, Angie."
"I'm feelin' all right—I'm used to sittin' home alone."
"If you talk like that—I won't go, then."
"Sure! You go on! Don't mind me."
"There's another corset sale advertised for to-morrow, ain't there? Gee! They don't care how many sales they spring on the girls down there, do they? Didn't you just have your semi-annual clearin'?"
"Yes; but they got a batch of Queenly shapes—two-ninety-eight—they want to get rid of. They're goin' to discontinue the line and put in the Straight-Front Flexibles."
Angie sipped her coffee in long draughts. Her black flannel wrapper fell away at the neck to reveal her unbleached throat, with two knobs for neck-bones.