"You must," she said to me yesterday, "give me something for my new scheme."
"I hope I shall have enough strength of mind not to; but what is it?"
"You have noticed in what a dreadful state so many of the shop windows in London now are?" she asked.
"The iniquitous prices of the goods?"
"Oh, no; I didn't mean that. I mean the dropped letters. Where they have glass letters stuck on, you know, and some have gone. Surely you must have noticed?"
"Yes, of course," I replied; "but I thought the shop-keepers were too lazy or careless to bother. The War has increased carelessness, you know."
"No, it isn't that," she said. "The poor fellows are so understaffed and overworked that they can't find time. My idea is to raise a fund so that it can be done for them. My heart aches. Only this morning I saw a barber's with ASH AND RUSH UP on it; and a confectioner's"—she referred to her notebook—"with ICE REAMS, and an undertaker's with PINKING ONE ERE."
"What is pinking?" I asked. "I always wanted to know."
"And," she continued, again consulting her book, "a tobacconist's with BEST OLDEN VIRGIN , and a dentist's with PA LESS EXTRACTION. Something really must be done. Don't you agree?"
I murmured that there were other abuses that were possibly more in need of immediate redress, but Mrs. Delta again turned to her book.