"Mrs. Stove," declared Miss Beal, leaning forward and looking up at Mrs. Grumble, "won't have a new dress this year. Well, she's right, material is dreadful to get. As I said to her: Mrs. Stove, your old dress will do; just let me fix it up a little. No, she says, she'll wear it as it is."
"Look at me," said Mrs. Grumble. "Here's an old rag. But I get along."
"Indeed you do," said Miss Beal. "Still," she added, speaking for herself, "one has to live."
"Oh, I don't know," said Mrs. Grumble airily.
"Goodness," exclaimed the dressmaker. "Gracious, Mrs. Grumble."
"I declare," avowed Mrs. Grumble, "what with things costing what they do, and every one so mean, I'd die as glad as not, out of spite."
"I wouldn't want to die," said Miss Beal slowly. "It's too awful. I want to stay alive, looking around."
"You're just as curious," said Mrs. Grumble. "Well, there, I'm not.
Men are a bad lot. You can't trust a one of them. Not for long."
"Yes," sighed Miss Beal, "there's a good deal I want to see. I'd like to see Niagara Falls, Mrs. Grumble."
"Lor'," said Mrs. Grumble, "a lot of water."