“Your old-fashionedest, you mean. Say, Dot, weed out half of those frights, and I’ll give you one of my candlesticks. They’d look fine at each end.”
“No-sir-ee! I insist on my rights, my whole rights and nothing but my rights! E pluribus unum, Erin go bragh!”
Dotty executed a species of war dance, and shook her fist defiantly at Dolly, who was standing off, admiring her end of the mantel and making wry faces at Dotty’s.
Suddenly Dolly broke into laughter. “We’ll have these scraps all the time, Dot, so I s’pose we may as well make up our minds to let each other do as we please.”
“I like your grammar, and I agree to your dic—dic—what do you call it?”
“Dictum?”
“Yes, dictum. Only you needn’t try to dictum me! We’re joint monarchs of all we survey, and we must let each other survey in our own way. I think my mantel layout is pretty fine. If you don’t I can’t help it.”
“No,” sighed Dolly, “and you can’t help having awful taste in decoration, either.”
“Taste is a matter of opinion, and I opine that my mantel looks as good as yours, only different.”
Then both girls grinned at each other, and the peace was unbroken. But the mantel did look funny!