followin' the mob.
They're all doin' it, from the Steel Trust down to the push-cart men.
And when you come to interferin' with business--well, that's serious."

"Humph!" says Vee. "When it comes to taking advantage of poor people and
depriving them of enough to eat, I call it plain piracy. And you ought
to be ashamed of yourself, Torchy, standing up for such things."

So you see I was about as convincin' as a jazz band tryin' to imitate
the Metropolitan orchestra doin' the overture to "Lucia." If I hadn't
finally had sense enough to switch the subject a little, there might
have been a poutin' scene and maybe a double case of sulks. But when I
got to askin' where she'd collected all this grouch against our local
meat and provision octopus, she cheers up again.

Seems she'd been to a Red Cross meetin' that afternoon, where a lot of
the ladies was swappin' tales of woe about their kitchen expense
accounts. Some of 'em had been keepin' track of prices in the city
markets and was able to shoot the deadly parallel at Belcher. Anyway,
they ditched the sweater-knittin' and bandage-rollin' for the time
bein', and proceeded to organize the Woman's Economic League on the
spot.

"Sounds impressive," says I. "And what then? Did you try Belcher for
treason, find him guilty, and sentence him to be shot at sunrise?"

Vee proves that she's good-natured again by runnin' her tongue out at
me.

"We did not, Smarty," says she. "But we passed a resolution condemning
such extortion severely."

"How rough of you!" says I. "Anything else?"

"Yes," says Vee. "We appointed a committee to tell him he'd better
stop."

"Fine!" says I. "I expect he'll have everything marked down about forty
per cent. by to-morrow night."

Somehow, it didn't work out just that way. Next report I got from Vee
was that the committee had interviewed Belcher, but there was nothing
doin'. He'd been awfully nice to 'em, even if he had talked through his
cigar part of the time.

Belcher says he feels just as bad as they about havin' to soak on such
stiff prices. But how can he help it? The cold-storage people are
boostin' their schedules every day. They ain't to blame, either. They're
bein' held up by the farmers out West who are havin' their hair cut too
often. Besides, all the hens in the country have quit layin' and joined
the I. W. W., and every kind of meat is scarce on account of Pershing's
men developin' such big appetites. He's sorry, but he's doin' his