The plan which Mrs. Toxteth had once mentioned to Ease, of having a masquerade follow the exhibition, had not been forgotten; and the invitations had accordingly been issued. It was arranged that the actors should meet on the morning following the theatricals, and make some arrangement for the exchange of costumes. About ten o'clock Patty, Flossy, and Will walked over to the Hall together.
"I feel like the ashes of yesterday's cigar slopped with the dregs of last night's champagne," yawned Will, with some reminiscence of wicked college frolics.
"And I," Flossy said, "feel like this man, you know, that"—
"No, I don't know," he interrupted. "I never know 'this man,' Floss; but I'm sorry you feel like him."
"If you'd kept still, you might have found out who he was; but now you'll never know."
"Oh, tell us!"
"No, I shall not. 'Twasn't that other, you know, either."
Flossy's "this man," or "that other, you know," were as famous in her particular circle as Sairy Gamp's "Mrs. Harris, my dear," in a more general one. These allusions were seldom intelligible, and it is to be suspected that sometimes the little witch made them purposely obscure for her own amusement.
The company assembled in the Hall was rather a sleepy one, with scarcely energy enough for discussion. The talk naturally ran chiefly upon the performance, the various haps and mishaps, the successes and failures, the money obtained. Patty and Tom Putnam chanced to stand near each other, and a little apart from the others. She had taken a slight cold from her exposure upon the piazza the night before, and was coughing.
"I am very sorry you've taken cold," the lawyer said.