HAPPY SATURDAYS
As was not to be wondered at, Patty slept late the next morning. And when she awakened, she lay, cozily tucked in her coverlets, thinking over the occurrences of the night before.
Presently Jane came in with a dainty tray of chocolate and rolls, and then, with some big, fluffy pillows behind her, Patty sat up in bed, and thoughtfully nibbled away at a crust.
Then Nan came in, in her pretty morning gown, and, drawing up a little rocker, sat down by Patty’s bedside.
“Are you in mood for a gossip, Patty?” she asked, and Patty replied, “Yes, indeedy! I want to talk over the whole thing. In the first place, Nan, it was a howling, screaming success, wasn’t it?”
“Why, yes, of course; how could it be otherwise? with the nicest people and the nicest flowers and the nicest girl in New York City!”
“In the whole United States, you mean,” said Patty, complacently, as she took a spoonful of chocolate. “Yes, the party in all its parts was all right. There wasn’t a flaw. But, oh, Nan, I got into a scrap with the boys.”
“What boys? and what is a scrap? Patty, now that you’re out, you mustn’t use those slang words you’re so fond of.”
“Nan,” and Patty shook her spoon solemnly at her stepmother, “I’ve come to realise that there is slang and slang. Now, the few little innocent bits I use, don’t count at all, because I just say them for fun and to help make my meaning clear. But that man last night,—that Lansing man,—why, Nan, his slang is altogether a different matter.”
“Well, Patty, he, himself, seems to be an altogether different matter from the people we know.”