“Hon. Conductor neglect to give us that paper!” I negotiate. Her eyes was full of vinegar.

“How dares you talk repartee after losing transfers?” she denote. So she give 10c extravagant cash to Hon. Conductor.

Nextly we came to Boston. Hon. Mrs. Sweet make her feet very determined and at lastly we arrive to a swollen building containing glass windows full of wax ladies resembling Newport. Hon. Mrs. Boss say “Oh!” with raptures and emerge inside.

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Mr. Editor, I never observed so many ladies walking circular as was inside that Hon. Dept Store. Wholesale quantities of female people was rushing elsewheres like Suffragettes who lost their general.

In the meanwhiles Hon. Mrs. Boss were somewheres. I could not tell. For 26 complete minutes I make search-up while being knocked in both directions. At lastly I dishcover her by enlarged counter full of blue polka-dots containing label, “DRESS SILK 19c.”

“Togo,” she exclam, “where are my money?”

“No got,” I narrate. Her nose grew angry.

“Are you so unintellectual that you do not know my money is in my purse in my handbag in my suit-case?”

I give her Hon. Suit-case, feeling very sorry for my depravity.

Nextly we descend up elevator. On next floor I observed a warfare. Surrounding one enlarged sign pronouncing “Great Slaughter of Waists.” Hon. Mrs. Sweet see this and holla, “O such happy bargain!” Then she make inrush while acting like a mob.

She attempt to remove one refined clothing away from a fatty lady whose hat was rye on her head.

“Where you come from to act so Indian?” require Hon. Mrs. Fattish.

“From West Dewberry, Mass., more better place than you!” snib Hon. Mrs. Boss.

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“I shall teach you some manners,” report Hon. Fattish making tug-jerk to waist.

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