"Vat is Mees Bootlonk doink down here amonkst all this tresh? Come see
our importet novelties."

And he led her to a region where the minimum price was MBBA-BDJA, which
meant that it cost 12.25 and could be safely marked down to 23.75.

She eluded him and got back to the 25-cent realm only to be apprehended
by Mr. Streckfuss, who beamed:

"Ah, nothink is here for a lady like you are. Only fine kvality suits
such a taste you got."

By almost superfeminine strength she evaded purchasing anything. She
went to other shops only to be haled to the expensive counters.
Storekeepers simply would not discuss cheap things with the
millionairess-elect.

She crept home and threw herself on her husband's mercy. He had none
and she lighted hard. It was the first of December, and in addition to
his monthly rage, Mr. Budlong was working himself up to his regular
pre-Christmas frenzy, when he always felt poor and talked poorer to
keep the family in check.

His face was a study when he had heard his wife's state of mind.
Forthwith he delivered the annual address on Christmas folly that one
hears from fathers of families all round the world at this time:

"Christmas has quit being a sign of people's affections," Mr. Budlong
thundered. "It has become a public menace. It's worse than Wall
Street. Wall Street is supposed have started as the thermometer of the