“My-oh-my! de splendid car’ages, an’ de beautiful horses, an’ de fine ladies an’ gemmen—dere nebber’ll be nothin’ like it fo’ ol’ Mammy Dilsey t’ see ag’in twill she gits t’ dat Hebenly sho’ an’ see dat angel band wot de Good Book talks about.”
Incidents of this great party at the Merredith plantation, and of other famous entertainments there, were still as fresh in Mammy Dilsey’s mind as the occurrences of yesterday.
“Oh, goodness,” sighed Helen, “there never will be any fun for girls again. And nowadays the boys only care to go to baseball games, or to go hunting and fishing. They refuse to come at our beck and call as they used to in these times Mammy Dilsey tells about.”
“I guess we make ourselves too much like themselves,” laughed Ruth. “That’s why the boys of to-day are different. If chivalry is dead, we women folks have killed it.”
“I don’t see why,” pouted Helen.
“Oh, my dear!” cried her chum. “You want to have your cake and eat it, too. It can’t be done. If we girls want the boys to be gallant and dance attendance on us, and cater to our whims—as they certainly did in our grandmothers’ days—we must not be rough and ready friends with them: play golf, tennis, swim, run, bat balls, and—and talk slang—the equal of our boy friends in every particular.”
“You’re so funny, Ruthie,” laughed Nettie.
“Lecture by Miss Ruth Fielding, the famous woman’s rights advocate,” groaned Helen.
“I am not sure I advocate it, my dear,” sighed Ruth. “‘I, too, would love and live in Arcady.’”
“Goodness! hear her exude sentiment,” gasped Helen. “Who ever thought to live till that wonder was born?”