The walls of this
apartment house are so terribly thin!"
"I don't care if they do hear. They all know dad hasn't had a
theatrical engagement for ever so long. And they know we haven't any
what you might call--resources--or we wouldn't live here. Of course
they know we're poor--that's no news!"
"I know, my dear. But you are so--so out-spoken."
"I'm glad of it. Oh, Ruth, when will you ever give up trying to
pretend we are what we are not? You're a dear, nice, sweet, romantic
sister, and some day I hope the Fairy Prince will come riding past on
his milk-white steed--and, say, Ruth, why should a prince always ride
a milk-white steed? There's something that's never been explained.
"All the novels and fairy stories have milk-white steeds for the hero
to prance up on when he rescues the doleful maiden. And if there's
any color that gets dirtier sooner, and makes a horse look most like
a lost hope, it's white. Of course I know they can keep a circus
horse milk-white, but it isn't practical for princes or heroes. The
first mud puddle he splashed through--And, oh, say! If the prince
should fail in his fortunes later, and have to hire out to drive a
coal wagon! Wouldn't his milk-white steed look sweet then? There goes
one now," and she pointed out of the window to the street below.
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