I'll be getting some pay tomorrow, and we can
blow it in."
So Jimmy chucks it down. Louise is a nice girl, and would merrily
"chuck" him the same amount if she happened to have it. That's all
there is to it.
There is a great deal of nonsense talked about the wickedness or at
least the impropriety of Greenwich Village--and some of the talk is by
people who ought to know better. The Village is, to be sure, entirely
unconventional and incurably romantic and dramatic in its tastes. It
is appallingly honest, dangerously young in spirit and it is rather
too intense sometimes, keyed up unduly with ambition and emotion and
the eagerness of living. But wicked? Not a bit of it!
And the heavenly, inconsequent, infectious, absurd gaiety of it!
The Lady Who Owns the Parrot (Pollypet is the bird's name) appears in
a new hat; a gorgeous, new hat, with a band of scarlet and green
feathers.
"Whence the more than Oriental splendour?" demands in surprise the
Poet from the Third Floor, who knows that the Lady is not patronising
Fifth Avenue shops at present.
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