"Gee!" says I. "I'd like to be there."
"You will be," says she; "for you are specially invited."
"Eh?" says I. "To meet the poor relations? How's that?"
"Who said they were poor?" says Sadie. "Why, Twombley-Crane says that his cousin's wife is one of the shrewdest business women he's ever heard of. He has been handling her investments, and says she must be worth half a million, at least; all made out of a country store, maple sugar bushes, and farm mortgages. I'm crazy to see her, aren't you?"
"What—Sallie?" says I. "Half a million! Must be some mistake."
Course I had to tell her then about the couple I'd run across, and about Mr. Sallie, and the pies, and the string bonnet. We had such a warm debate too, as to whether she was really well off or not, that next day my curiosity got the best of me, and I calls up the hotel to see if the Leavitts are in. Well, they was, and Mrs. Leavitt, when she finds who it is, asks pleadin' if I won't run up and see 'em a little while.
"Please come," says she; "for I'm completely flabbergasted. It's—it's about Mr. Leavitt."
"Why, sure," says I. "I'll come right up."
I finds 'em sittin' in their dull, bare little hotel room, one on each side of the bed, with the extension grip half packed on the floor. "Well," says I, "what's up?"
"Ask him," says she, noddin' at Mr. Sallie.