When they were alone Molly became aware of a small cake of the ice of common sense floating down the full tide of her happiness.
«You're a bird, all right, Kid,» she admitted gratefully. «I never had any furs on before in my life. But ain't Russian sables awful expensive? Seems to me I've heard they were.»
«Have I ever chucked any bargain–sale stuff at you, Moll?» asked the Kid, with calm dignity. «Did you ever notice me leaning on the remnant counter or peering in the window of the five–and–ten? Call that scarf $250 and the muff $175 and you won't make any mistake about the price of Russian sables. The swell goods for me. Say, they look fine on you, Moll.»
Molly hugged the sables to her bosom in rapture. And then her smile went away little by little, and she looked the Kid straight in the eye sadly and steadily.
He knew what every look of hers meant; and he laughed with a faint flush upon his face.
«Cut it out,» he said, with affectionate roughness. «I told you I was done with that. I bought 'em and paid for 'em, all right, with my own money.»
«Out of the money you worked for, Kid? Out of $75 a month?»
«Sure. I been saving up.»
«Let's see—saved $425 in eight months, Kid?»
«Ah, let up,» said the Kid, with some heat. «I had some money when I went to work. Do you think I've been holding 'em up again? I told you I'd quit. They're paid for on the square. Put 'em on and come out for a walk.»