Chapter 51

"Now, I want to tell you my idea," cried Phyllis. "We’re going to pack up, poor booful disgraced genius--and wife (as they add on hotel registers); and we’re going to count our poor little pennies, and take a tourist sleeper to New York, and get a little flat of the sort they rent to dormice in reduced circumstances, and live on air and kisses and hope--while poor Booful will go round telling everybody he’s a reformed character, and looking for an engagement. And if the top all hates him, and if the middle is all …