And then, here last night, after she'd been workin' over her account-books for an hour or so, she comes at me with a whoop, and waves a sheet of paper under my nose excited.
"Now, Mister Business Man," says she, "what do you think of that?"
"Eh?" says I, starin' at the figures.
"One hundred and seventeen regular customers the first week," says she, "and a net profit of $23.45. Now how about underwriting that stock issue?"
Well, it was a case of backin' up. She had it all figured out plain. She'd made good from the start. And, just to prove that it's real money that she's made all by herself, she insists on invitin' me out to a celebration dinner. It's a swell one, too, take it from me.
And afterwards we sits up until long past midnight while Vee plans a chain of "boots " all over the city.
"Gee!" says I. "Maybe you'll be gettin' yourself written up as 'The Shine Queen of New York' or something like that. Lucky Auntie's in Jamaica. Think what a jolt it would give her."
"I don't care," says Vee. "I've found a job."
"Guess you have," says I. "And, as I've remarked once or twice before, you're some girl."