t wa'n't any Grand-st. fashion plate that
she was a livin' model of. It was Fifth-ave. and upper Broadway. Talk
about your down-to-the-minute costumes! Say, maybe they'll be wearin'
dresses like that a year from now. And that hat! It wa'n't a dream; it
was a forecast.

"We saw it unpacked from the Paris case," whispers Sadie.

All I know about it is that it was the widest, featheriest lid I ever saw
in captivity, and it's balanced on more hair puffs than you could put in
a barrel. But what added the swell, artistic touch was the collar. It's a
chin supporter and ear embracer. I thought I'd seen high ones, but this
twelve-inch picket fence around Maizie's neck was the loftiest choker I
ever saw anyone survive. To watch her wear it gave you the same
sensations as bein' a witness at a hanging. How she could do it and keep
on breathin', I couldn't make out; but it don't seem to interfere with
her talkin'.

Sittin' close up beside her, and listenin' with both ears stretched and
his mouth open, was a blond young gent with a bristly Bat Nelson
pompadour. He's rigged out in a silk faced tuxedo, a smoke colored, open
face vest, and he has a big yellow orchid in his buttonhole. By the way
he's gazin' at Maizie, you could tell he approved of her from the ground
up. She don't hesitate any on droppin' him, though, when we arrives.

"Hello!" says she. "Ripping good of you to come. Well, what do you think?
I've got some of 'em on, you see. What's the effect?"

"Stunning!" says Sadie.

"Thanks," says Maizie. "I laid out to get somewhere near that. And, gosh!
but it feels good! These are the kind of togs I was born to wear. Phemey?
Oh, she's laid up with arnica bandages around her throat. I told her she
mustn't try to chew gum with one of these collars on."

"Say, Maizie," says I, "who's the Sir Lionel Budweiser, and where did you
pick him up?"

"Oh, Oscar!" says she. "Why, he found me. He's from St. Paul, nephew of
Mrs. Zorn, who's visiting her. Brewer's son, you know. Money? They've got
bales of it. Hey, Oscar!" says she, snappin' her finger. "Come over here
and show yourself!"

And say, he was trained, all right. He trots right over.

"Would you take him, if you was me?" says Maizie, turnin' him round for
us to make an inspection. "I told him I wouldn't say positive until I had
shown him to you, Mrs. McCabe. He's a little under height, and I don't
like the way his hair grows; but his habits are good, and his allowance
is