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 "Gee, Edna, do you think we could get a place for fifty dollars?"

"Any amount of them," Edna assured her. "Nice ones, too."

Edna was troubled. She wished with all her heart that she had approached Eddie on the subject. The thought of Dot's disappointment if Eddie displayed his middle-class independence made Edna choose a green hat when she had come out with the sole idea of getting a tan one.

Dot found shop windows that she had never before noticed. Windows with chinaware and ice boxes, windows with garbage pails and mops.

Edna watched her pityingly. Some might think that envy would have been a more appropriate expression for a woman whose young enthusiasms were buried with a rollicking, mad Scotsman. Edna was acutely aware that if Dot had been able to think of anything but house furnishings, she, the poor old widow, would have received a bounteous share of pity. Edna chuckled silently. Nothing could hurt her. A man with a sulky face, sulkily telling her that he would have none of her friend's furniture in his sulky home, would have left her howling with mirth. Poor Dot. Eddie could hurt her dreadfully. Nothing could hurt Edna. Not even Jim Haley—oh, well, nothing could hurt her much.

"Look, Edna, you stick close to me when I approach Eddie on the subject."

"Yeh, sure, I'll be only a short car ride away."

"No, I mean it."

"So do I mean it. If I'm there how can Eddie call me an interfering, God damn pest?"

"Edna!"

"Yes, Edna! You tell him, Kid, all by yourself. If he isn't eager to take the stuff, my being there isn't going to throw him into an ecstasy of delight."