PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
Gordon smiled. "You answer my questions and maybe I'll answer yours. At least, I will if I can.'
"That's fair. The girl's name is Mills or Mill."
"Hm; first name?"
The other frowned, trying to remember. At last, "Margaret, I think." He grinned. "She never told me, but I have a strong notion that it's Margaret."
Gordon tried to keep the eagerness out of his voice as he asked, "Do they ever call her Peggy?"
"Who? You can bet I don't! She'd jump me, I guess."
"I see; it's probably not the same lady. Now, then, what do you want?"
"Well, suppose you give me a good hot roast on Chicago society; usual New York style, you know; mention of pork packers and newly rich—I never could say it in French—and a passing jab at our fair city's efforts to become a center of art and literature. That always gets their goat."
"I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you." Gordon laughed. "I don't know much about Chicago
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