"I shouldn't wonder," replied Effie, opening her eyes.  "No, don't kiss me. You might catch something. But say, reach up and smooth my hair away from my forehead, will you, and call me a couple of fool names. I don't care how clumsy you are about it. I could stand an awful fuss being made over me, without being spoiled any." 

 Three weeks later Effie was back at the store. Her skirt didn't fit in the back, and the little hollow places in her cheeks did not take the customary dash of rouge as well as when they had been plumper. She held a little impromptu reception that extended down as far as the lingeries and up as far as the rugs. The old sparkle came back to Effie's eye. The old assurance and vigor seemed to return. By the time that Miss Weinstein, of the French lingeries, arrived, breathless, to greet her Effie was herself again. 

 "Well, if you're not a sight for sore eyes, dearie," exclaimed Miss Weinstein.  "My goodness, how grand and thin you are! I'd be willing to take a course in typhoid myself, if I thought I could lose twenty-five pounds." 

 "I haven't a rag that fits me," Effie announced proudly. 

 Miss Weinstein lowered her voice discreetly.  "Dearie, can you come down to my department for a minute? We're going to have a sale on imported lawnjerie blouses, slightly soiled, from nine to eleven to-morrow. There's one you positively must see. Hand-embroidered, Irish motifs, and eyeleted from soup to nuts, and only eight-fifty." 

 "I've got a fine chance of buying hand-made waists, no matter how slightly soiled," Effie made answer, "with a doctor and nurse's bill as long as your arm." 

 "Oh, run along!" scoffed Miss Weinstein.  "A person would think you had a husband to get a grouch every time you get reckless to the extent of a new waist. You're your own boss. And you know your credit's good. Honestly, it would be a shame to let this chance slip. You're not getting tight in your old age, are you?" 

 "N-no," faltered Effie, "but——" 

 "Then come on," urged Miss Weinstein energetically.  "And be thankful you haven't got a man to raise the dickens when the bill comes in." 

 "Do you mean that?" asked Effie slowly, fixing Miss Weinstein with a thoughtful eye. 

 "Surest thing you know. Say, girlie, let's go over to Klein's for lunch this noon. They have pot 

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