“Honest?” says I. “Then how about Clover Blossom Inn?”
Heard about that joint, haven’t you? Of course. There’s a lot of joy-ride tank stations strung along Jerome-ave. and the Yonkers road; but when it comes to a genuine tabasco flavored chorus girls’ rest, the Clover Blossom has most of the others lookin’ like playgrounds for little mothers. But Cornie don’t do any dodgin’.
“Fine!” says she. “I’ve read about that inn.” Then she hurries on to plan out the details. I must go over to Times Square and hire a nice looking touring car for the evening. And I mustn’t let Miss Stover know how much it costs; for Cornelia wants to do that part of it by her lonely.
“The dinner we are to go shares on,” says she.
“Couldn’t think of it,” says I. “Let that stand as my blow.”
“No, indeed,” says Cornelia. “We have the money all put aside, and I sha’n’t like it. Here it is, and I want you to be sure you spend the whole of it,” and with that she shoves over a couple of fives.
I couldn’t help grinnin’ as I takes it. Maybe you’ve settled a dinner bill for three and a feed for the shofer at the Clover Blossom; but not with a ten-spot, eh?
And while Cornelia is goin’ back in the elevator after the schoolma’am, I scoots over to get a machine. After convincin’ two or three of them leather capped pirates that I didn’t want to buy their blamed outfits, I fin’lly beats one down to twenty-five and goes back after the ladies.
“Cornelia whispered about the peroxide puffed girl”