You're the picture postal, you are! Never you mind these dames.
Say the word and we'll make up with a large time to-night. I'll blow
you through all the best movies and stake you to an ice-cream, soda.
Do you get yes?"
Despite his well-meant solicitude, however, Win's vitality was at an
exceedingly low ebb toward five o'clock in the afternoon of the third
day. There had been no time to go out for an alleged luncheon and a
breath of fresh air. She had eaten nothing since her breakfast of hot
chocolate at a soda fountain, save a poached egg in the employees'
restaurant, and, as Sadie said, it wasn't safe to accept an egg from
the Hands unless you'd met the hen socially and knew her past. Since
four o'clock the exile had been thinking passionately of England, with
its millions of women sitting down--actually sitting down!--to tea.
And then, suddenly, a man pushed aside a female thing who was being
cross because she couldn't find a doll that said "Papa" and "Mama" in
German.
"As you can't get what you want, madam, I'm sure you won't mind my
taking your place," apologized a cheerful voice. "Madam" was so
dumfounded that she gave way. And Win, thankful for a change of sex in
her customer, had put on her polite saleslady air before she realized
that she was face to face with Jim Logan, her motoring acquaintance of
the park.
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