“Come on now, Henrietta,” I say. “Quit stallin’ an’ cash in. What were you wearin’ when you come up to New York from Connecticut on the 12th January? Start at the top with your hat.”
She smiles. This dame can certainly be annoyin’.
“I may not be able to remember,” she says, “but I’ll try. I suppose you want to know everything—even to the color of my step-ins.”
She hands me out another sarcastic smile that was just poison.
“To tell you the truth I hadn’t thought about your underwear,” I crack, “but since you mention it you can tell me about that too!”
She gets up.
“You cheap gorilla,” she says. She is white with rage. “I . . .”
“Sit down an’ take it easy, sister,” I say. “Cash in with the description includin’ color of underwear—remember you suggested it, not me—an’ get busy. If you
