“Nashville?” Mrs. Cole humped her eyebrows as if she had never heard of the place before when every Thanksgiving for more years than she’d care to admit she had been besieged for permissions to go there to the game.
“Yes, ma’am. My brother Jack will drive by on Wednesday afternoon and pick us up. We can get to Nashville early Wednesday night and come back Thursday night after the game.”
“With proper permission from your parents, Betsy, you, of course, may go but, Mimi, it is different with you. This school, in the absence of your parents, is fully responsible for you. I cannot think of giving you permission without consulting Dr. Barnes.”
Mimi was wilting under Mrs. Cole’s droning.
“You would have to take a chaperon, of course.”
“But my brother is going.”
“He is not Mimi’s brother.” Mrs. Cole bit off the words. “You may see if you can find a teacher to accompany you in case Dr. Barnes gives consent. Now run along.”
Run along they did. As fast as they could go they went to Miss Taylor’s studio. They stopped outside and listened. Miss Taylor was giving a lesson. There was nothing to do but wait. They sat down in the corridor and leaned against the wall.
“Concentrate, Betsy, concentrate. Say over and over to yourself, Miss Taylor go to Nashville, Miss Taylor go to Nashville.”
“O. K.”