"Well, Ma, you know what war is," I says. "And we'll get a good meal at the Ritz to-night to make up!"
Well, anyways, sustained more by patriotism than by what I had eat, I set out to put over a scheme I had all hatched out in my head for using places which was already kind of organized, as my selling agents—do you get me? And the first place I went was to Maison Rosabelle's because—believe you me—that cheap dress I had bought off her needed a plastic surgeon by then. Maison was as usual giving a unconscious imitation of a trained seal, switching gracefully around the store with a customer which she was hypnotizing into all forgetfulness of prices. But finally I got her alone long enough to express what I thought about the dress and any lady will be able to imagine what that was. Then I asked her could she fall in with my scheme which was on Saturday to take only Thrift Stamps or W.S.S. for each purchase and sell them the stamps herself. Maison didn't enthuse over the idea, though she's rich at that.
"Why, dearie! Not on a bet!" she said. "It ain't that I'm not patriotic, but this establishment is exclusive!"
Well, I seen there was no use arguing with her, and I guess there never is with a woman which is marcelle-waved every day of her life, not to mention that cheap fake of a dress. Next one I buy of her without a guarantee will be for her funeral! So I just left her flat and went over to Chamberlin's. Of course it takes a whole lot more brains to run a enormous cabaret and restaurant like his than Maison has to use if less nerve, he not coming personally into contact with the customers like she does, and I counted on this. I went in by the main door where a lady sat selling W.S.S. and she bored me to death with them while a captain went to find Chamberlin. When I seen him coming I tried to assume that sprightly and convincing manner of the sidewalk W.S.S. hounds, but was overcome with that deep seated sense of being about to make a flivver, which also shows on most of them. However, Chamberlin was a genial good soul and was crazy over stamps. But he had beat me to it on the admission only by buying stamps on Saturday night.
"Better try among your rich friends, Miss La Tour!" he says. "And you'll be surprised how many you'll sell. That's the easiest way unless you use a gun!"
"I don't want to sell to my friends," says I. "I want to sell to everybody—get folks to chip in. The chipping-in idea is what is so good—get together and all that."
Well, believe you me—after this I tried a dozen places and every one of them, stores and all, where I had any influence or charge account, had got theirselves so full of W.S.S. schemes that I felt like a helpless babe in arms as the poet says, before I was through. There was no room for my little $11,000 worth any place: they had all stocked up, and what to do next I had no idea.
On the way to the Ritz that night Ma didn't talk steady like she usually does and seemed kind of low in her mind, and maybe in her stomach also which I was the same by then. Not to mention the censor which it is better not to for fear I might say what I thought and he a Government official.
But anyways no sooner was we inside the hotel than two society swells tackled us for W.S.S. Oh, they was democratic, just! They spoke right to us, and everything! But my goat was got by it.
"A regular hold-up!" I whispered to Ma. And as I spoke them fateful words I remembered that I owned a gun, which it was left from a piece I done for the movies and I had kept it for a souvenir. Of course I dismissed the thought at once like the sensible woman I am. But somehow it wouldn't exactly stay away.