“Seems like wastin’ time, anyhow,” she said uneasily. “I don’t see why the others didn’t come. Well, can’t we go to Coney Island or the Statue of Liberty or somewhere when we’re through?”
Mitchell looked at Jack.
“Why, you see, Aunt Mary,” the latter promptly shrieked, “we thought we’d be good and go home early and sort of rest up to-night so as to have a high old time to-morrow.”
Aunt Mary’s face, which had fallen during the first part of their speech, brightened up at the last words.
“What are we goin’ to do?” she inquired with unfeigned interest.
“Burnett’s going to give us a dinner,” Jack answered, “and then afterwards we’re going to help you see the town.”
“Oh!” said Aunt Mary. A pleasant gleam fled over her face.
“I never was a great believer in bein’ out nights,” she said, “but I guess I’ll make an exception to-morrow. I might as well be doin’ that as anythin’, I presume. Maybe better—very likely better.”
“Oh, very much better,” said Mitchell. “It is the exceptions that furnish all the oil in life’s machinery. The exceptions not only generally prove too much for the rule, but they also generally prevent the rule from proving too much for us. They—”
“But I don’t see why we couldn’t go to two or three vaudevilles to-night, too,” said the old lady, suddenly. “I feel so sort of ready-for-anythin’.”