by me. Let's go in and interview Madame Maurice."

We had to waste four or five minutes while I inspects the dress Vee has
bought, and I sure felt foolish standin' there watchin' this young lady
model glide back and forth.

"I trust Monsieur approves?" asks Madame Maurice.

"Oh, sure!" says I. "Quite spiffy. But say, I noticed one in the window
that sort of took my eye--that street dress, in the corner."

"Street dress?" says the Madame, lookin' puzzled. "Is M'sieur certain?"

"Maybe I'd better point it out."

But by the time I'd towed her to the front door there was nothing of the
kind in sight.

"As I thought," says Madame. "A slight mistake."

"Looks so, don't it?" says I, as we trails back in. "But you have a Miss
Mamie Stribble working here, haven't you; a young lady with kind of
goldy hair, dark eyebrows and a sort of old ivory complexion?"

"Ah!" says the Madame. "Perhaps you mean Marie St. Ribble?"

"That's near enough," says I. "Could I have a few words with her?"

"But yes," says Madame Maurice. "It is her hour for luncheon. I will
see." With that she calls up an assistant, shoos me into a back parlor
and asks me to wait a moment, leavin' Crosby out front with his mouth
open.

And two minutes later in breezes the Madame leadin' Mame Stribble by the
arm. The lady boss seems somewhat peeved, too. "Tell me," she demands,
"is this the street dress which you observed in the window?"

"That's the very one," says I.

"Hah!" says she. "Then perhaps Marie will explain to me later. For the
present, M'sieur, I leave you."

"Sorry if I've put you in bad, Miss Stribble," says I, as the Madame
sweeps out.

"Oh, that's all right," says Mame, tossin' her chin. "She'll get over
it. And, anyway, I was takin' a chance."

"So I noticed," says I. "What was the big idea, though?"

"Just sizin' up the people who pass by," says Mame. "It's grand sport
havin' 'em stretch their necks at you and thinkin' you're just a dummy.
I got onto it one day while I was changin' a model. Course, it cuts into
my lunch time, and I have to sneak a dress out of stock, but it's kind
of fun."

"'Specially when you've got one particular young gent coming to watch
regular, eh?" I suggests.

That seems to give her sort of a jolt and for a second she stares at me,
bitin' her upper lip. "Who do you mean, now?" she asks.

"He has a chin dimple and his name's Crosby Rhodes," says I. "You've put
the spell on him for fair, too. He's out