“I like cretonne better than chintz,” replied Maudie.
“No, cretonne is like flannelette at fourpence-ha’penny a yard—looks like the loveliest flannel, and you make up your blouse and think you have got a treasure that’s going to last you for six weeks without washing. You find out your mistake in about six days, and when you send it to the wash, it comes back as rough as a badger and can never be worn more than once afterwards. No, dear girl, let us have chintz.”
“I suppose,” said Maudie, “if you want chintz you’ll have chintz.”
“Well, we’ll go up to the High Street to-morrow morning and we’ll look at both—”
“Excuse me making so bold,” said a voice at the door, “but if I might be allowed to speak to you ladies—”
They both turned with a start. The foreman, politely pressing the back of his hand across his lips, was standing in the hall. “Well?” they said in the same breath.
“If I might make so bold, ladies, as to suggest, our guv’nor is a one-er on chintzes.”
“Oh, really?”
“Loose covers is his special’ty—his special’ty.” He again passed the back of his hand across his lips. “Thank you very much for the drink, ladies. It was very welcome. If I might make so bold as to—”