“Sure,” says I. “She’s got it—bad.”
“Ah!” says Miss Ann, brightenin’ up. “And now about that life membership!”
“Well,” says I, “the Piny Crest proposition is all right, and I’d like to see it started; but the fact is, Miss Colliver, if I should put my name down with all them big people I’d be runnin’ out of my class.”
“You would be—er——Beg pardon,” says she, “but I don’t think I quite get you?”
I’d suspected she wouldn’t. But how was I going to dope out to her clear and straight what’s so muddled up in my own head? You know, all about how Annie got her cough, and my feelin’s towards the firms that’s sweatin’ the Tiscotts, from the baby up, and a lot of other things that I can’t state.
“As I said,” goes on Miss Colliver, “I hardly think I understand.”
“Me either,” says I. “My head’s just a merry go round of whys and whatfors. But, as far as that fund of yours goes, I don’t come in.”
“Humph!” says she. “That, at least, is quite definite. Home, Hutchins!”
And there I am left on the curb lookin’ foolish. Me, I don’t ride back to the studio on any broadcloth cushions! Serves me right too, I expect. I feels mean and low down all the rest of the day, until I gets some satisfaction by huntin’ up Tony and throwin’ such a scare into him that he goes out and finds a porter’s job and swears by all that’s holy he’ll take up with the fam’ly again.
But think of the chance I passed up of breakin’ into the high toned philanthropy class!