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 She stopped at the secretary long enough to thrust the bothersome envelopes into a drawer. At Teresa Moore's there never seemed any question about giving a little dinner or going to the theater, and yet George Moore earned only fifty dollars more a month than Larry did. To be sure, the Moores had only one baby—and Teresa's mother gave her an occasional frock. Still, some day she would ask Teresa for a little inside information on budget-building.

It was Teresa's bachelor brother who made the opening for Mrs. Larry that very evening at dinner. He looked with undisguised admiration upon a baked potato which had just been served to him by the trim maid.

"Teresa, I take my hat off to your baked potatoes. There isn't a club chef in New York who can hold a candle to you when it comes to baking these."

"It isn't the baking, my dear boy, it's the buying of them. A watery potato won't bake well."

"Ah—and how, pray, do you know a watery