She stopped at the secretary long enough to thrust the bothersome envelopes into a drawer. At Teresa Moore's there never seemed any question about giving a little dinner or going to the theater, and yet George Moore earned only fifty dollars more a month than Larry did. To be sure, the Moores had only one baby—and Teresa's mother gave her an occasional frock. Still, some day she would ask Teresa for a little inside information on budget-building.
It was Teresa's bachelor brother who made the opening for Mrs. Larry that very evening at dinner. He looked with undisguised admiration upon a baked potato which had just been served to him by the trim maid.
"Teresa, I take my hat off to your baked potatoes. There isn't a club chef in New York who can hold a candle to you when it comes to baking these."
"It isn't the baking, my dear boy, it's the buying of them. A watery potato won't bake well."
"Ah—and how, pray, do you know a watery
