She cocked her hat to a forward angle, so that the hen pheasant's tail
swung rakishly over her face, took an Hellenic stride through the aisle
of perambulators, flung her arms across her bosom in an attitude of
extravaganza, then tossed off a military salute.

"Ready, march!"

"You're a peach, Gert."

"I've tried pretty near everything in my life. Why not wheel another
fellow's baby-carriage for another fellow's wife's baby across Brooklyn
Bridge at midnight? Whoops! why not!"

"We're off, then, Gert."

"Forward, march!"

"Keep your eye on the steering-wheel, Phonzie, and remember, ten miles
is speed limit on the Bridge. One, two, three! Gawd! if my friend from
Carson City could only see me now!"

Out on the drying sidewalk they leaned to each other, and the duet of
their merriment ran ahead of them down the meager street and found out
its dark corners.

"Honest, Phonzie, won't the girls just bust when they hear this!"

"And Mil, poor old girl, she's right weak and full of nerves now, but
she'll laugh loudest of all when she knows why I went with Slews."