“Beer,” she cried, “look at me!” “Maddum!” cried the astounded Beer. “What done it?” “Unrequited love and pickles. I can wear sport clothes now!” “Maddum can wear anything or nothing!” declared Beer triumphantly. That night, Warble, her hands behind her, wafted into Petticoat's room. He sat on the edge of his bed, running lingerie ribbons in his underwear. “I'll stay, always,” Warble said, sidling up to him. “And I'm happy. But...” “Look out! Don't let the cat get that bolt of ribbon to play with!” She smoothed his pillows and patted his sheets, while Petticoat glanced at her a little suspiciously, from under his gabled eyebrows. “But I don't say that Butterfly Center is worth the ground it's built on. I don't admit that Ptomaine Street is as useful as a Hoboken alley. I don't admit that Art is any good at all. I've fought like a tiger and I didn't make a dent on the Butterflies--but, I _have_ grown thin!” “Sure, you bet you have!” said Petticoat, threading ribbon into his gold bodkin. “Well, kiss me good night--here you--I see you! Don't you put those caterpillars in my bed!” THE END End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ptomaine Street, by Carolyn Wells