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Updated: May 6, 2025
Naturally one doesn't say roodles in Vienna." "We say noodles," said he. "I am very fond of them. But to resume; I supposed every one in New York knew Miss Blithers. She's quite the rage, I'm told." "Indeed? I should think she might be, Mr. Schmidt, with all those lovely millions behind her." He smiled introspectively.
"I've heard so much about her lately. She is the daughter of William Blithers, the great capitalist." "Oh, I know who he is," she exclaimed. "Perfect roodles of money, hasn't he?" "Roodles?" "Loads, if it means more to you. I forgot that you are a foreigner. He gave that wonderful ball last week for the Prince of of Oh, some insignificant little place over in Europe.
He had no great liking for poker at any limit, and he would not subject his savings to a senseless hazard. Of course he might win, but you never could tell. "Do you good," urged Elmer. "Quit at twelve sharp, with one round of roodles." "No, I guess not," said Merton. "We had some game last night, I'll tell the world!
There are such a lot of queer little duchies and principalities, don't you know; it is quite impossible to tell one from the other. They don't even appear on the maps." He took it with a perfectly straight face, though secretly annoyed. "It was the talk of the town, that ball. It must have cost roodles of money. Is that right?" "Yes, but it doesn't sound right when you say it.
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