“And wait a minute; don’t you throw it till I get down there myself, for I might catch it.”
“Do catch it, Patty, and then you can give it back to me. I want to keep it all my life.”
“Well, you can’t, Christine; it isn’t done! You’ll have to direct your sentimentality in some other direction. Or, here, I’ll give you a flower out of it, and that’s plenty for you to keep for a souvenir of this happy occasion.”
“Why do I have to throw it, anyway?” persisted Christine, as she tucked the flower away for safe keeping.
“First and foremost, because I tell you to! and, incidentally, because it’s the custom. You know, whoever catches it will be married inside of a year. Now, I’m going on down, and then you come along with Nan, and I expect you’ll find Mr. Hepworth down there somewhere,—if Ken hasn’t lost him.”
Patty cast a final critical glance at Christine, and seeing that she was all right in every respect, she gave her one last kiss, and hurried downstairs. She found a group of laughing young people standing in the hall, all provided with confetti, and the girls all looking upward to watch for the descending bouquet.
“Here’s a good place for you, Patty Pink and White,” and Farnsworth guided her to a place directly under the banister.
At that moment Christine appeared at the head of the stairs. She stood a moment, her bouquet held at arm’s length, and looked at it as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to part with it.
“There, now she’s going to toss it! Quick, Patty, catch it!” Big Bill whispered in her ear, and Patty looked upward. Then, seeing the direction in which the flowers fell,—for Christine really tossed them straight at her,—Patty whirled round and sprang aside, so that the bouquet was picked up by a girl who stood next to her.
“Oh, Patty! you muffed it!” cried Farnsworth; “and what’s more, you did it on purpose!”