Off wid yez down the
shtairs, now! 'Tis late, and an ould man like me should be takin' his
rest."
XXIV
MADAME BO-PEEP, OF THE RANCHES
"Aunt Ellen," said Octavia, cheerfully, as she threw her black kid
gloves carefully at the dignified Persian cat on the window-seat, "I'm
a pauper."
"You are so extreme in your statements, Octavia, dear," said Aunt
Ellen, mildly, looking up from her paper. "If you find yourself
temporarily in need of some small change for bonbons, you will find
my purse in the drawer of the writing desk."
Octavia Beaupree removed her hat and seated herself on a footstool
near her aunt's chair, clasping her hands about her knees. Her slim
and flexible figure, clad in a modish mourning costume, accommodated
itself easily and gracefully to the trying position. Her bright and
youthful face, with its pair of sparkling, life-enamoured eyes, tried
to compose itself to the seriousness that the occasion seemed to
demand.
"You good auntie, it isn't a case of bonbons; it is abject, staring,
unpicturesque poverty, with ready-made clothes, gasolined gloves, and
probably one o'clock dinners all waiting with the traditional wolf at
the door. I've just come from my lawyer, auntie, and, 'Please, ma'am,
I ain't got nothink 't all.
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