Betty looked and grumbled disgustedly:
“That ends it. I’ll squeeze no more lemons. It’s all your fault, anyhow, Polly, for telling me to step on them.”
“Excuse me, dear,” said Polly meekly, “I meant with moderation.”
As the girls stood laughing around the remains of the lemon, Louise Preston entered the room.
“I can’t get any one to pick violets for me.
We’ve only one bowlful and we need loads.” Then as she saw the floor she asked: “Who’s been throwing lemons?”
“Oh, Bet got mad because I put a quotation in Moore’s mouth that belonged to Burns, her beloved,” laughed Mary Right.
“Well, suppose you three girls go and get us some more flowers,” suggested Louise. “You don’t look as if you were enjoying this very much and, besides, we can’t waste lemons.”
“We will go with pleasure,” chorused the three.
“Thanks ever so much,” said Louise, and she added as they were leaving the room: “Please don’t do any arguing while you’re about it, or Bet may step on the violets.”