Miss Wing repeated: “Mr. Stone.”
“He’s in the drawing-room, ma’am; I just saw him in there.”
Miss Wing turned to her companion. “Just think of their having Stone here! Suppose we go and see if we can find him? I’d like to see how he looks in society. I shouldn’t be surprised to find him in his shirt sleeves. Well, Congressman Briggs knows which side his bread is buttered on. He keeps solid with the Boss.”
Farley stopped work for a moment. “I wonder who prepared this list!” he said to Mrs. McShane. “Good idea!”
“How do you happen to be doing society work, Mr. Farley?” the old woman asked.
Farley smiled. “Well, it is rather out of my line, I must admit. If I had to do this sort of thing very much I’d quit the business. But our little Miss Carey is sick, and she was afraid she’d lose her job if she didn’t cover this.”
The wistful look deepened in Mrs. McShane’s face. “So you said you’d do it! You must have a kind heart, Mr. Farley. Oh, I wish they’d give a description of the dresses with the list of guests!” she added, despairingly. “It would save us a lot of bother.”
“I’ve a good mind to fake my stuff about the frocks,” Miss Wing interposed.
Mrs. McShane looked shocked. “But suppose your managing editor should find it out?”
“Pooh! What do editors know about frocks?” Miss Wing spoke with a fine superiority. “I’ve noticed that they always like my faked things best, anyway.”