PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
Jove, I'd like to find a girl who'd do that for me?"
"Think of your poor liver," said Gordon feelingly. "Look here, you poor old idiot, what you want is a housekeeper, not a wife. You can hire them."
"Oh, I'm through with that sort of thing," responded Pete virtuously.
"I wish you wouldn't misconstrue my suggestions. I was referring to a bona-fide housekeeper; a perfect lady. You advertise for them in the papers. They are usually widows, I believe, and dress in black merino, whatever that is, and live in the past. If you paid a big enough salary I'll bet you could get one to sit on the hearth with the cat."
"You're a damned fool," said Peter with a grin. "I come to you for sympathy and all I get is a lot of silly jokes. Let's have another drink."
"No more, thanks. What are you doing this evening?"
"Dinner; Sinclair's. Going?"
"I believe I am. I'd forgotten it. Let's get away and go to a show afterwards."
"I'm your boy," said Peter more cheerfully.
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