She shook her head, and sighed. “You’re awfully good, Jack, but it can’t be done. I’ve no clothes—and those places take clothes—and clothes, the right sort of clothes, they take money—and I have no money.”
“Wha’s money!” Jack laughed. “Tha’s nothing! I got money. I give you a check.”
“Really?”—the large, almost childish eyes still upon him. “Yes, you really are in earnest. But one check wouldn’t buy all I need.”
“You li’l’ fool—pre’ li’l’ fool,” he cried, patting her cheek, and laughing again. “I can make it one big check.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know anything about checks and banks, but I know it would take three.”
“All ri’,” he said good-humoredly, tickled by her ignorance. He drew out his pocket check-book. “How much?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Couldn’t you just sign your name, and let me fill those spaces when I buy the things?”
“Sure. Peter, you always carry ole fountain pen. Lemme have ole fountain pen jus’ one minute.”
The pen was handed over. Jack signed three checks and passed them to Nina. She murmured warm thanks, and then looked from them to him, apologetic doubt in her eyes.
“A woman’s clothes cost an awful lot, Jack,—more than you guess. Would it be all right if I had to fill these in for perhaps as much as five hundred dollars apiece?”