“With these heavy bags, Doro?”
“Only a block and a half, my dear Tavia. You are a strong, healthy girl.”
“But I do so like to have people do things for me,” sighed Tavia, clasping her hands. “And taxicabs are so nice.”
“And expensive,” rejoined Dorothy.
“Of course. That is what helps to make them nice,” declared Tavia. “Doro, I just love to throw away money!”
“You only think you do, my dear,” her chum said placidly. “Once you had thrown some of your own money away—some of that your father sent you to spend for your fall and winter outfit—you would sing a different tune.”
“I don’t believe I would—not if by throwing it away I really made a splurge, Doro,” sighed Tavia. “I love money.”
“You mean, you love what money enables us to have.”
“Yep,” returned the slangy Tavia. “And taxicab rides eat up money horribly. We found that out, Doro, when we were in New York before, that time—before we graduated from dear old Glenwood School.”
“But this isn’t getting us anywhere. To return——”