"I see," cuts in Vee. "I suppose you're right, too. But I'm sure that I should like to be in business. It must be fascinating, all that planning and scheming. It must make life so interesting."
I nods. "It does," says I.
"Then why shouldn't I try something of the kind, all my very own?" she asks. "Oh, in a small way, at first?"
More gasps from me. This was gettin' serious.
"You don't mean margin dabblin' at one of them parlor bucket-shops, do you?" I demands.
"No fear," says Vee. "I think gambling is just plain stupid. I mean some sort of legitimate business—buying and selling things."
"Oh!" says I. "Like real estate, or imported hats, or somebody's home-made candy? Or maybe you mean startin' one of them Blue Goose novelty shops down in Greenwich Village. I'll tell you. Why not manufacture left-handed collar buttons for the south-paw trade? There's a field. "
Vee don't say any more. In fact, three or four days goes by without her mentionin' anything about havin' nothing to do, and I'd 'most forgot this batty talk of ours.
And then, one afternoon when I comes home after a busy day at doin' nothing much and tryin' to look important over it, she greets me with a flyin' tackle and drags me over to a big wingchair by the window.
"What do you think, Torchy?" says she. "I've found something!"