"May the Lord forgive me," sighed the fat woman. "I was that flustered I
forgot to congratulate him. But how it takes me back! Dearie, I too was
young! I too have loved! Ah, gioventu primavera della vita! Ah, l'amore!
Ah! Ah!"
"You make me sick," said Cassy.
"Dearie----"
"Be quiet. My father won't like it and I can't lie to him about it. But
I shall need some things and you will have to go for them. What will you
tell him?"
With one hand, the fat woman could have flattened Cassy's father out.
But not his tongue. The nest of vipers there, even then hissed at her.
"Why, dearie, to-morrow you'll have your pick of Fifth Avenue and until
then, if you need a tooth-brush, I'll get one for you around the
corner."
"But my father will have to be told something. He'll worry to death. I
might write though, and put on a special delivery. Look here. Have you
any note paper that isn't rotten with scent? If not, I do believe I'll
chuck it."
"For God's sake, dearie!"
Hastily, in search of scentless paper, the fat woman made off.