"You will need a neat cloth street dress, for afternoons," says Sadie. "Not for me!" says Maizie. "That'll do all right for Phemey; but when it comes to me, I'll take something that rustles. I've worn back number cast-offs for twenty-two years; now I'm ready for the other kind. I've been traveling so far behind the procession I couldn't tell which way it was going. Now I'm going to give the drum major a view of my back hair. The sort of costumes I want are the kind that are designed this afternoon for day after to-morrow. If it's checks, I'll take two to the piece; if it's stripes, I want to make a circus zebra look like a clipped mule. And I want a change for every day in the week." "But, my dear girl," says Sadie, "can you afford to----" "You bet I can!" says Maizie. "My share of Uncle Hen's pile is forty-five hundred dollars, and while it lasts I'm going to have the lilies of the field looking like the flowers you see on attic wall paper. I don't care what I have to eat, or where I stay; but when it comes to clothes, show me the limit! But say, I guess it's time we were getting back to our boarding-house. Wake up, Phemey!" Well, I pilots 'em out to Fifth-ave., stows 'em into a motor stage, and heads 'em down town. "Whew!" says Sadie, when I gets back. "I suppose that is a sample of Western breeziness." "It's more'n a sample," says I. "But I can see her finish, though. Inside of three months all she'll have left to show for her wad will be a trunk full of fancy regalia and a board bill. Then it will be Maizie hunting a job in some beanery." "Oh, I shall talk her out of that nonsense," says Sadie. "What she ought to do is to take a course in stenography and shorthand." Yes, we laid out a full programme for Maizie, and had her earnin' her little twenty a week, with Phemey keepin' house for both of 'em in a nice little four-room flat. And in the mornin' I helps her deposit the certified check, and then turns the pair over to Sadie for an assault on the department stores, with a call at a business college as a finish for the day, as we'd planned. When I gets home that night I finds Sadie all fagged out and drinkin' bromo seltzer for a headache. "What's wrong?" says I. "Nothing," says Sadie; "only I've been having the time of my life." "Buying tailor made uniforms for the Misses Blickens?" says I. "Tailor made nothing!" says Sadie. "It was no use, Shorty, I had to give in. Maizie wanted the other things so badly. And then Euphemia declared she must have the same kind. So I spent the whole day fitting them out." "Got 'em something sudden and noisy, eh?" says I. "Just wait until you see them," says Sadie. "But what's the idea?" says I. "How long do they think they can keep up that pace? And when they've blown themselves short of breath, what then?"