THE VERY TIRED GIRL
Noreen began to laugh snuffingly.
"I'm not crying about anything special," she acknowledged. "I'm just crying. I'm crying partly because I'm tired—and partly because I've got my overshoes on—but mostly"—her voice began to catch again—"but mostly—because there's a man waiting to see me in the parlor."
The Political Economist shifted uneasily in his rain coat and stared into Noreen's eyes.
"Great Heavens!" he stammered. "Do you always cry when men come to see you? Is that why you never invited me to call?"
Noreen shook her head. "I never have men come to see me," she answered quite simply. "I go to see them. I study in their studios. I work on their newspapers. I caricature their enemies. Oh, it is n't men that I'm afraid of," she added blithely, "but this is something particular. This is something really very funny. Did you ever make a wish that something perfectly preposterous would happen?"
"Oh, yes," said the Political Economist reassuringly. "This very day I said that I wished my Stenographer would swallow the telephone."
"But she did n't swallow it, did she?" persisted Noreen triumphantly. "Now I said that I wished some one would swallow the telephone and she did swallow it!"
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