fifty-fifty. If you're gonna get you gotta give 'em somethin' in return."
"Yeh, and you can do it, Min. But not me. I ain't a born four-flusher like you. I can't put on what I don't feel, even to be popular like you and Jimmy. Say, Minnie," she added after a contemplative pause, "if you was a man I bet you'd be in politics. Honest, I mean that, I bet you'd work up to be a top-notcher. You're that slick."
Minnie considered this a compliment, so she leaned over and kissed Nettie before she went into the dining room for her dinner.
Mrs. Flynn made it seem quite an event to have dinner in the dining room again. Ever since Nettie's illness they had crowded into the kitchen, single file, and filling their plates, had set them upon the sink. All had gobbled to get out of the heat and the unbearable stuffiness.
"Lord, you'd think there was company, ma, the way you carry on," Minnie remarked as she sidled through the door and into the vacant chair next to her father. "What you usin' the servin' dishes for?"
Her mother flushed. "I dunno, Minnie, except that—well, you like 'em, don't you, Pete?" Losing all control of herself, she lapsed into a nervous titter. "Pete says the food tastes better out o' chinaware than out o' the pots and kettles on the table."
"Oh, Mr. Astor would, o' course. He's that elegant—" Minnie laughed scornfully.
Pete turned toward his mother. "There!" he cried triumphantly. "You see how Minnie always starts it, the dirty little sneak, tryin' to put it off on me and Nettie, and gettin'
