They'd probably scratch the cars all up if they took a dislike to her.
The garden court had never before looked so peaceful and lovely as it looked to her that afternoon. She gazed at it with stricken eyes and had to reason with herself to keep from feeling low. After all, this was just another angle of being a kept woman. Gee, you couldn't always be on the crest of the wave. The kind of life she had picked for herself was one of ups and downs. More ups, of course, than downs, but this was the test of whether she was big enough for the job or not. After all, when you were used to nice things it took courage to be one of Mrs. Svensen's tenants.
Her living-room seemed beautiful to her as she looked at it. Gosh, she'd never really appreciated it before. Oh, well, when Hubert got the kind of job he was after they'd get a place that was even nicer than this one. She'd like it all the better, too, for having lived in a dump for a while.
And maybe she wouldn't have to move at all. Maybe Hubert would connect with something good before the first of the month and they'd let Mrs. Svensen keep their ten dollars and the bilious little apartment. Gee, Hubert would look funny in those tiny rooms. He was so big. The furniture would look funny, too. Like a well-dressed lady slumming.
But the furniture didn't look funny in the dingy little apartment. For the pink satin chair was soiled and torn in a few places, the rugs had cigarette burns, the Windsor chairs were wobbly and loose, the three-piece suit was stained and scratched.
