"Oh, sure!" says I. "Quite spiffy. But say, I noticed one in the window that sort of took my eye—that street dress, in the corner."
"Street dress?" says the Madame, lookin' puzzled. "Is M'sieur certain?"
"Maybe I'd better point it out."
But by the time I'd towed her to the front door there was nothing of the kind in sight.
"As I thought," says Madame. "A slight mistake."
"Looks so, don't it?" says I, as we trails back in. "But you have a Miss Mamie Stribble working here, haven't you; a young lady with kind of goldy hair, dark eyebrows and a sort of old ivory complexion?"
"Ah!" says the Madame. "Perhaps you mean Marie St. Ribble?"
"That's near enough," says I. "Could I have a few words with her?"
"But yes," says Madame Maurice. "It is her hour for luncheon. I will see." With that she calls up an assistant, shoos me into a back parlor and asks me to wait a moment, leavin' Crosby out front with his mouth open.
And two minutes later in breezes the Madame leadin' Mame Stribble by the arm. The lady boss seems somewhat peeved, too. "Tell me," she demands, "is this the street dress which you observed in the window?"