Well, I pilots ’em out to Fifth-ave., stows ’em into a motor stage, and heads ’em down town.
“Whew!” says Sadie, when I gets back. “I suppose that is a sample of Western breeziness.”
“It’s more’n a sample,” says I. “But I can see her finish, though. Inside of three months all she’ll have left to show for her wad will be a trunk full of fancy regalia and a board bill. Then it will be Maizie hunting a job in some beanery.”
“Oh, I shall talk her out of that nonsense,” says Sadie. “What she ought to do is to take a course in stenography and shorthand.”
Yes, we laid out a full programme for Maizie, and had her earnin’ her little twenty a week, with Phemey keepin’ house for both of ’em in a nice little four-room flat. And in the mornin’ I helps her deposit the certified check, and then turns the pair over to Sadie for an assault on the department stores, with a call at a business college as a finish for the day, as we’d planned.
When I gets home that night I finds Sadie all fagged out and drinkin’ bromo seltzer for a headache.
“What’s wrong?” says I.
“Nothing,” says Sadie; “only I’ve been having the time of my life.”
“Buying tailor made uniforms for the Misses Blickens?” says I.
“Tailor made nothing!” says Sadie. “It was no use, Shorty, I had to give in. Maizie wanted the other things so badly. And then Euphemia declared she must have the same kind. So I spent the whole day fitting them out.”