Half Portions. Edna Ferber
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leaned forward and kissed her. "Good-night, mummy dear. You're so tired, aren't you?"
Her father stood in the doorway.
"Good-night, dear. I ought to be tucking you into bed. It's all turned around, isn't it? Biscuits and honey for breakfast, remember."
So Pinky went off to her own room (sans slp cov) and slept soundly, dreamlessly, as does one whose work is well done.
Three days later Pinky left. She waved a good-bye from the car platform, a radiant, electric, confident Pinky, her work well done.
"Au 'voir! The first of November! Everything begins then. You'll love it. You'll be real New Yorkers by Christmas. Now, no changing your minds, remember."
And by Christmas, somehow, miraculously, there were they, real New Yorkers; or as real and as New York as any one can be who is living in a studio apartment (duplex) that has been rented (furnished) from a lady who turned out to be from Des Moines.
When they arrived, Pinky had four apartments waiting for their inspection. She told them this in triumph, and well she might, it being the winter after the war, when New York apartments were as scarce as black diamonds and twice as costly.
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