"No kidding, I want to know." Dot's tone suggested that she was working on a problem of which Edna could have no possible inkling.
"About two dollars," said Edna.
"And gas?"
"Oh, anywhere from a dollar up."
"Gee, that's cheap enough," said Dot. "I could do my own wash—"
"Hold the fire, Kid. Did you ever wring out a blanket?"
"No. Did you?"
"Yep."
"Then so could I, and look at the money I'd save if I did my own laundry."
"And look at how you'd get to hate housework."
Dot smiled loftily. Poor Edna, she didn't know that no one would ever tire of working in the prettiest, coziest little apartment that ever was.
Edna sat for another ten minutes, then made signs of moving on. "I want to buy a hat," she said. "If you're not too tired from hanging the pictures and unpacking the barrels, maybe you'd like to come along."
Dot closed the door on her little be-cretonned love nest and vigorously tried it; then she got her hat and coat and walked out of the furnished room.
"I bet I'd learn to cook right away," she said as she followed Edna to the street.
"Sure you would," Edna agreed. "All any bride needs is a can opener."
"Oh, I mean really cook, pot roasts and things."
There was something very touching in the way she said pot roasts and things. Edna patted her tenderly on the shoulder as they walked down Madison Avenue.
"Ask Eddie," she said, "and if he says you can take the furniture I'll show you how to cook pot roasts and soups and puddings and everything."
