“There weren’t many between whom to choose; all you had to do was to ask me; I’m on till ten on that section. I’d have told you I did it, if you’d asked me,” said Cis, halting in the doorway.
“You certainly would have, Cicely the Sincere!” cried Mr. Singer, and this time he laughed aloud.
Nan hurried from the exchange at five o’clock sharp, and around to the drug store where Cicely was awaiting her.
“We don’t eat to-night in the Tel. Restaurant, Nancy Bell; we eat at Hildreth’s, one of his regular old ripping platter suppers: lobster; little necks sitting around him; broiled finan haddy, relishes—who minds being a Catholic on Friday when she’s got the price of Hildreth’s about her?” cried Cis, seizing Nan’s hand and tucking it into her arm. “Drew my last check from the Tel. Co., so it’s on me, and a treat at Hildreth’s, just to celebrate!”
“Oh, Cis, Cis, what are you going to do next?” sighed Nan, yielding, yet disapproving this extravagance.
“After the supper? I hadn’t thought. Movie? But we don’t care for movies!” Cis pretended to meditate.
“You know I don’t mean that! What sort of work will you try for? Where will you go—”
Cis interrupted her by whistling blithely, as well as any boy could whistle, as indifferent as a boy to passers-by: “Oh, boys, where do we go from here?”
“Wait till after lobster, Nan, and I’ll tell you,” Cis then said, seeing Nan’s real distress.
“Oh, that means something that would spoil my appetite!” cried prophetic Nan.