“I never know just how to address that member of your party,” said Robert to Irving.
The latter smiled. “She would tell you she was just Betsy. She’s such a good soul that down East, in the village where she comes from, they call her Clever Betsy; and she’s all that New England means by the adjective, and all that Old England means, too.”
Meanwhile Rosalie Vincent was making her hasty preparations for another move, and to her came Miss Hickey in a state of high satisfaction.
“I’m staying, Baby,” she cried, her eyes snapping. “I guess there must be a lot of lay-overs. Anyway they need me, and there’s a Swattie ball to-night. Hurray!” Miss Hickey executed a triumphant two-step and knocked over a chair.
Rosalie seized her arm. “Can’t I stay too, then?” she asked anxiously.
“No, you can’t, Blue-eyes. You’re to go.”
“Oh, you go and let me stay!” begged Rosalie nervously.
“And lose the ball?” exclaimed Miss Hickey. “Well, believe me, you’ve got nerve!”
Rosalie looked as if she were going to cry, and Miss Hickey’s good-nature prompted a bit of comfort.
“Besides, if you’re afraid of the lock-up, this is your chance to side-step those folks. More’n as like as not they’re among the lay-overs.”