"All here except the queen," remarked Laura, as she looked around her.
"The queen?" repeated Bess Harley, staring at her.
"Queen Linda of Chicago," explained Laura, with a wicked twinkle in her eye.
"For goodness' sake, don't ever let Linda Riggs hear you say anything like that, Laura Polk," admonished Bess. "She's so conceited that she wouldn't know it was sarcasm. She'd think it was a tribute drawn from an unwilling admirer."
"I know," laughed Laura. "It doesn't take much to set her up. If she had water on the brain, she'd think she was the whole ocean."
"Here she comes now," remarked Nan, after the laughter caused by Laura's sally had subsided.
A tall girl, wearing expensive furs and having a supercilious air, came along with two or three companions. It was noticeable that she left to them the work of drawing the bobsled, while she sauntered along, ostentatiously adjusting her furs as though she sought to call attention to their quality.
"Hurry up, Linda," called out Laura. "I believe you'd be late at your own funeral."
"I never get anywhere early," snapped Linda. "It isn't good form. When I go to the theater I always get in late. I always have the best seat that money can buy reserved for me, so what's the use of hurrying? Of course it's different when one has to go early and scramble for a seat."