"Wait a minute!" screamed Minnie. "What're you going to do about it?"
"There is only one thing to do under the circumstances," said Greenbaum, as if annoyed because they had recalled him. "When a contract is signed and isn't lived up to we place it in the hands of the police. What I'd do, ladies, if I were you, is to notify your attorney at once so he can prepare your defense."
If he had talked of long-term imprisonments and electric chairs his words could not have been more terrifying. This dread sentence whipped around them leaving a stinging, physical pain. It frightened them into an easy triumph for Greenbaum.
Fifteen minutes later he arrived, laughing, at Madame Papillon's shop and handed over the box labeled, "Perishable. Maison Papillon."
At home Minnie and her mother huddled on the sofa in despair, whispering their decision not to let any one of the family know that Minnie had lost the clothes.
"It's all right, ma," said Minnie feebly. "I still got the gorgeous gown that Eleanor sold me. At that I bet I'll make something of a hit in it. I seen a lot of 'em at the studio and there ain't one that can touch it."
"You'll make a hit, dearie, don't worry," comforted her mother. "Come now, help me get the dinner ready. As Jimmy says, it'll all come out in the wash."
Nettie had dinner with Elsie and Pete; Michael Flynn went back to work, after a hurried bite. The evening dragged unhappily. The "L" tearing past shut off for a few moments the monotonous ticking of the clock. Tick-tick-tick. Minnie thought at times she would hurl it out of the window. Tick-tick-tick. Gee, the hours were long and dull now. What was Billy MacNally doing, she wondered? Probably out to
