“Don’t be knocking Ruthie all the time,” said Tom, glancing back over his shoulder. “She’s all right.”
“And you keep your eyes straight ahead, young man,” advised Aunt Kate, “or you will have this heavy car in the ditch.”
“Watch out for Henri and Heavy, too,” advised Helen. “They do not quite know what they are about and you may run them down. There! See his horizon-blue sleeve steal about her? He’s got only one hand left to steer with. Talk about a perfect thirty-six! It’s lucky Henri’s arm is phenomenally long, or he could never surround that baby!”
“I declare, Helen,” laughed Ruth. “I believe you are covetous.”
“Well, Henri is an awfully nice fellow—for a Frenchman.”
“And you are the damsel who declared you proposed to remain an old maid forever and ever and the year after.”
“I can be an old maid and still like the boys, can’t I? All the more, in fact. I sha’n’t have to be true to just one man, which, I believe, would be tedious.”
“You should live in that part of New York called Greenwich Village and wear a Russian blouse and your hair bobbed. Those are the kind of bon mots those people throw off in conversation. Light and airy persiflage, it is called,” said Tom from the front seat.
“What do you know about such people, Tommy?” demanded his sister.
“There were some co-eds of that breed I met at Cambridge. They were exponents of the ‘new freedom,’ whatever that is. Bolshevism, I guess. Freedom from both law and morals.”