And I want a cigarette
now."
"If you do, I'll _know_ it's all right, Butterfly," returned her
companion fetching a box from a shelf.
"Hold the thought!" cried Io gayly. "There's a creed for you! 'Whatever
is, is right,' provided that it's Io who does it. Always judge me by
that standard, Ban, won't you?... Where in the name of Sir Walter
Raleigh's ghost did you get these cigarettes? 'Mellorosa' ... Ban, is
this a Sears-Roebuck stock?"
"No. It came from town. Don't you like it?"
"It's quite curious and interesting. Never mind, my dear; I won't tease
you."
For all that Io's "my dear" was the most casual utterance imaginable, it
brought a quick flush to Banneker's face. Chattering carelessly, she
washed up the few dishes, put them away in the brackets, and then,
smoking another of the despised Mellorosas, wandered to the
book-shelves.
"Read me something out of your favorite book, Ban.... No; this one."
She handed him the thick mail-order catalogue. With a gravity equal to
her own he took it.
"What will you have?"
"Let the spirit of Sears-Roebuck decide. Open at random and expound."
He thrust a finger between the leaves and began:
"Our Special, Fortified Black Fiber Trunk for Hard Travel. Made of
Three-Ply Ven--"
"Oh, to have my trunks again!" sighed the girl.
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