was so long, in fact, since poor Angie had seen a live billion dollar bill that she didn’t recognize it. She thought it was a trading stamp of some kind—a green trading stamp perhaps; certainly not a yellow one. She knew that much, anyway. It was no more use to her than a stepped-on chocolate drop or a subway ticket to Mars. Her dream of affluence had grown quite bald; her hopes were falling out every day.
That’s the way it goes in this world, especially with those whose brains have failed to coagulate. Listen: Opportunity knocks but once at every one’s door, and then usually goes right on and delivers the package to the wrong address. One girl for instance, will be so interested in listening to the phonograph that she fails to hear a rich Patagonian asking her to marry him, while another, a mere elevator girl, perhaps with a brass tooth will ring up the President of the First National Bank and get him to propose over the phone, thereby winning $10,000 a year alimony. But for further particulars see our small booklet. “Love Lures.” $1.50 post paid. Send no money.
And so Angie of the concave intellect,
