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Updated: May 7, 2025
"Maddum can wear anything or nothing!" declared Beer triumphantly. That night, Warble, her hands behind her, wafted into Petticoat's room. He sat on the edge of his bed, running lingerie ribbons in his underwear. "I'll stay, always," Warble said, sidling up to him. "And I'm happy. But..." "Look out! Don't let the cat get that bolt of ribbon to play with!"
She snapped a dimpled pink thumb and forefinger at the whole exhibit, made a face at the skinniest one of all, and then sneaked casually into Bill's arms. "Nice, nice," she cooed, patting his mastoid process. "Run along now, and I'll plan my party." "That Boddy woman," remarked Beer, as she dressed Warble; "she is a pest a pill! Wait, Maddum, I beg you! I've only rouged one of your cheeks!"
Two Petticoats arriving. A happy Warble sprang from the car and seemed fairly to skim up the steps. She passed, unnoticing, the pantry door, and flew up to her own rooms which had been done over to suit her new slenderness. "Beer," she cried, "look at me!" "Maddum!" cried the astounded Beer. "What done it?" "Unrequited love and pickles. I can wear sport clothes now!"
Beer wanted to patronize Warble, tried to do so, but found it impossible. Her patronage rolled off of Mrs. Bill Petticoat like hard sauce off a hot apple dumpling. "Do you get enough to eat, Beer?" her mistress asked her. "Wee, maddum," the maid replied, in her pretty War French. "I eat but a small." "Well, don't drop to pieces, that's all," warned Warble.
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