For five minutes neither spoke. By then Mimi was so sure Miss Taylor would go to Nashville that she began to think of other things.
“What are you going to wear?”
“That tweed suit. Your plaid wool and camel’s hair coat would be grand.”
“Are you sure? I want to look nice. I’ll wash my pigskin gloves and get a new beret. Oh, but my nose! Does it look very bad to you, Betsy? Tell me the truth.”
“In another week we’ll never know anything was ever the matter with it. The swelling is gone and the bruises are fading fast. You don’t have a hump.”
“That was the good part about the fracture being a little to the side of the bridge and the wound on the inside. Oh, Betsy if she won’t let me go—I’ll—cable—Daddy!”
“With what?” A voice asked. Sue had stepped out of the studio and had been listening, “What’s up?”
Disregarding Sue and knocking her violin case awry they grabbed Miss Taylor one on either side.
“Thanksgiving? I’m sorry but I am going to Memphis for that whole weekend.”
Blam! That quickly a bubble bursts. One pin prick and a balloon is flat. Two dejected figures slink down the corridor to Tumble Inn.