"Yes. It was in between the salesman and Al. I sold two thousand five hundred dollars' worth of gowns the first week." "Sure enough?" "'Girl,' old man Lichtig said to me the day I quit--'girl,' he said, 'if ever you need this job again, comeback; it's waiting.'" "Fine chance!" "I've got the last twenty-five dollars I earned pinned away this minute in the pocket of the little dark-blue suit I wore to work. I paid for that suit with my first month's savings. A little dark-blue Norfolk, Lichtig let me have out of stock for twenty-seven fifty." "Were they giving them away with a pound of tea?" "Honest, Kitty, it was neat. Little white shirt waist, tan shoes, and one of those slick little five-dollar sailors, and every cent paid out of my salary. I could step into that outfit to-morrow, look the part, and land back that job or any other. I had a way with the trade, even back at Finley's." "Here, hold my jewel bag, honey; I'm going to die of cold-cream suffocation if she don't soon come back and unsmear me." "Opal beetle in it?" "Yes, dearie; but it won't bite. It's muzzled with my diamond horseshoe." "Nothing doing, Kit. Put it under your pillow." "You better watch out. There's a thirteenth letter in the alphabet; you might accidentally use it some day. You're going to have a sweet time to-night, you are!" "Why?" "The boys have engaged De Butera to come up to the rooms." "You mean the fortune teller over at the Stag Hotel?" "She's not a fortune teller, you poor nervous wreck. She's the highest-priced spiritualist in the world. Moving tables--spooks--woof!" "Faugh!" said Hester, rising from her couch and feeling with her little bare feet for the daintiest of pink-silk mules. "I could make tables move, too, at forty dollars an hour. Where's my attendant? I want an alcohol rub." They did hold séance that night in a fine spirit of lark, huddled together in the _de-luxe_ sitting room of one of their suites, and little half-hysterical shrieks and much promiscuous ribaldry under cover of darkness. Madame de Butera was of a distinctly fat and earthy blondness, with a coarse-lace waist over pink, and short hands covered with turquoise rings of many shapes and blues. Tables moved. A dead sister of Wheeler's spoke in thin, high voice. Why is it the dead are always so vocally thin and high?