She gives him a look that must have felt like an icicle slipped down his neck. "Certainly we enjoy New York," says she. "It's our home, don'cha know."
"Gosh!" says I. I didn't mean to let it slip out, but it got past me before I knew.
Mrs. Merrity only raises her eyebrows and smiles, as much as to say, "Oh, what can one expect?"
That numbs me so much I didn't have life enough to back out of goin' to the theatre with 'em, as Hank had planned. Course, we has a box, and it wasn't until she'd got herself placed well up in front and was lookin' the house over through the glasses that I gets a chance for a few remarks with Hank.
"Is she like that all the time now?" I whispers.
"You bet!" says he. "Don't she do it good?"
Say, there wa'n't any mistakin' how the act hit Hank. "You ought to see her with her op'ra rig on, though—tiara, and all that," says he.
"Go reg'lar?" says I.
"Tuesdays and Fridays," says he. "We leases the box for them nights."
That gets me curious to know how they puts in their time, so I has him give me an outline. It was something like this: Coffee and rolls at ten-thirty A. M.; hair dressers, manicures, and massage artists till twelve-thirty; drivin' in the brougham till two; an hour off for lunch; more drivin' and shoppin' till five; nap till six; then the maids and valets and so on to fix 'em up for dinner; theatre or op'ra till eleven; supper at some swell café; and the pillows about two A. M.