“I cannot tell what Father Darling does with all his money,” dement Hon. Mrs. “He receive $240. per monthly yet we enjoy less luxury than the rich. Perhapsly he are gambling in stocks.”
“Result of his selfishness I are the worst dressed girl in the Curfew Glen Smart Set,” corrods Hon. Mabel amidst sobs.
“If you had married Father Darling you would realize why ladies goes on hungry strikes,” snib Hon. Mrs.
And so onwards.
When Hon. Pratt retreat homewards at night he usually carry complete bookkeeper library under his arm so he can spent tired evening finding who stole that 22c from firm of Obediah Pennypicker & Co. by which he is owned. Considerable hours each evening he set to table with eyeglasses and commonpeople expression on his face while he read that arithmetic. Pretty soonly income Hon. Mrs. & Hon. Miss dishguised in pinksilk Marlborough clothing and intending to go outwards.
“Such stylish!” report Hon. Father looking at.
“This are not stylish,” renig Hon. Mabel Dear while spatting her Newport hairs. “This dress are made from remnant bargains. It are next to nothing.”
“It seem so at the neck,” ollicute he humoristically. “Girl wears but little here below but wears that little long. To what social Durbar are you going to?”
“The My Cream Tango Tipsickery Circle,” negotiate Hon. Miss. “O Father Darling, why you no go long? If oncely you did you might make less cruel talking.”
“Maybe I shall,” report Hon. Pa laying down bookkeep volume.