“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
“Why shouldn’t I bring in dresses or anything else that I have bought and paid for? I call It stealing—simply stealing—for them to make me pay over a lot of money for my own things! You can’t get anything fit to wear in America, anyhow!”
“That ’s right,” said the Boston man judicially.
“I should say not!” assented Ashurst. “By the way, where do you get your clothes, old chap?”
“Poole’s,—ever since I wore kilt-skirts!” answered the Boston man as if insulted by the question. “Where d’ you get yours, may I ask?”
“Feller in Hanover Square,” answered the other. “Peddler ’s his name. Rippia’ good cloth. Try him sometime!”
“Thanks,” said the Bostonian, scribbling down the name on the back of a card. “Well, are we going to play any more?”
“Oh, let ’s cut it out!” said Lily. “I ’m so bored with everything—present company excepted, of course—on this ship, I could scream. What ’s the news?”
“Nothing,” answered the Boston man187
