“You.”
“Oh, the rule is reversed in my case—the collapse went first. I’m only inflating up to the usual limit again. Is there any gravy left?”
“No, there isn’t,” said Clover, looking in the dish, “there isn’t much of anything left.”
“Let’s go to the library,” said Mitchell, rising abruptly. “It always makes me ill to see goose-stuffing before Thanksgiving. Come on.”
“I’m done,” said Burnett, springing up and winding his lacey draperies about his manly form. “Come on yourself; and once settled and smoking, let us canvass the question and agree with Clover.”
“You know there are nights about town and nights about town,” said Clover, as they climbed the staircase. “I do not anticipate that Aunt Mary will bring up with a round turn in the police station, as her young relative once did.”
“Well, that’s some comfort,” said Mitchell. “I did not feel sure as to just where you did mean her to bring up. You will perhaps allow me to remark that making a night of it with Aunt Mary in tow is a subject that really is provocative of mature reflection. Making a night of it is a frothy sort of a proposition in which our beloved aunty may not beat up to quite the buoyancy of you and me.”
As he finished this sage remark they all re-entered the library and grouped themselves around the table of smoking things.
“That’s what I say,” said Jack. “I think she’s much more likely to beat out than to beat up—I must say.”
“I’ll bet you she doesn’t,” cried Burnett eagerly. “I’ll bet five dollars that she doesn’t.”