But she was only momentarily stunned by surpassing ecstasy.
“You’d better put some water in the bath-tub, Granite,” she said, recovering, “nothing else will be big enough.”
The four young men drew up chairs and rivalled her smiles with theirs.
“I d’n know how I ever can thank you,” said the old lady warmly. “I’ve always had such a poor opinion o’ life in cities, too!”
“Life in cities, my dear Miss Watkins,” screamed Mitchell, “is always pictured as very black, but it’s only owing to the soft coal—not to the people who burn it.”
Aunt Mary smiled again.
“I guess the bath-tub will be big enough to keep ’em fresh,” she said simply, and Mitchell gave up and dried his forehead with his handkerchief.
They dined at home upon this occasion and afterwards took two carriages for the theater. Aunt Mary, Jack, Clover, the American Beauties and the violets went in the first, and what remained of the party and the floral decorations followed in the second.
“I mean to smoke,” said that part of the second load which habitually answered to the name of Mitchell. “There is nothing so soothing when you have thorns in your legs as a cigarette in your mouth.”
“Too—too;” laughed his companion. “Jimmy! but our aunt is game, isn’t she?”