“You shall go whenever you like,” he said. “We’ll keep it up for a sort of game on rainy days. How much is a dollar, Miss Alicia?”
“Four and twopence. And sugar is six cents a pound.”
“Go to the head,” he answered. “Right again.”
The opened roll of newspapers was lying on the table near her. They were copies of “The Earth.” The date of one of them by merest chance caught her eye.
“How odd!” she said. “Those are old papers. Did you notice? Is it a mistake? This one is dated—” She leaned forward, and her eye caught a word in a head-line.
“The Klondike,” she read. “There’s something about the Klondike.” He put his hand out and drew the papers away.
“Don’t you read that,” he said. “I don’t want you to go to bed and dream about the Klondike. You’ve got to dream about the flat in Harlem.”
“Yes,” she answered. “I mustn’t think about sad things. The flat in Harlem is quite happy. But it startled me to see that word.”
“I only sent for them—because I happened to want to look something up,” he explained. “How much is a pound, Miss Alicia?”
“Four dollars and eighty-six cents,” she replied, recovering herself.