"But I have told you," says she. "Saskatoun."
"Is it a new hair tonic, or what?" says I.
"It's a city," says she. "One of the largest in British Columbia."
"Think of that!" says I. "They don't care how they mess up the map these days, do they? And your folks live there?"
"Most of them," says she. "Two of my brothers are up at Glen Bow, raising sheep; one of my sisters is at Alberta, giving piano lessons; and another sister is doing church singing in Moose Jaw. If I had stayed at home I would be doing something like that. We are a musical family, you know. Daddy is a church organist and wanted me to keep on in the choir and perhaps get to be a soloist, at $50 a month. But I couldn't see it. If I am going to make a living out of my music I want to make a good one. And New York is the place, isn't it!"
"It depends," says I. "You don't think you'll get rich in the 'Tut! Tut! Marie' chorus, do you?"
"Perhaps they'll not keep me in the chorus," says she. "It's the back door, I know, but it was the only way I could get in. And I'm going to work for something better. You'll see."
Yep, I saw. Miss Joyce resigned at the end of the week, and it wasn't ten days before I gets a little note from her saying how she'd been picked out to do a specialty dance and duet with Ronald Breen. Mr. Breen had done the picking himself. And she did hope I would look in some night when the company opened on Broadway.
"I expect we'll have to go; eh, Vee?" says I when I gets home.
"Surely," says Vee.