Her secretary blinked, and put one hand to his temporarily whirling head, while with the other he automatically gathered up the mail.
When, toward the close of that eventful gala day at Farrandale, Miss Frink had courageously returned to the scene of the festivities, two girls witnessed the burst of applause which greeted her as she stepped from her secretary’s motor.
One of them, a typical flapper, her hair and her skirt equally bobbed, gazed balefully at the apparition of the lady of the old school as she bowed in response to the plaudits of her townspeople. The other, a gentle-looking, blonde girl, smiled unconsciously at the black satin figure, as she joined in the applause.
The eyes of the flapper snapped. “You shan’t do it, Millicent,” she said, pulling her friend’s clapping hands apart.
“I must,” laughed Millicent. “I’m a loyal Ross-Grahamite.”
They were sitting in that part of the grandstand which had not embarrassed Rex and Regina by falling.
“You can’t be loyal to her and to me, too. She fired me yesterday.”
“Oh, Damaris,” said the blonde girl sympathetically. “What happened?”
“This,” said Damaris indicating her dark short locks.