“Then you can have lemonade to cool off on later,” put in Betty. “You know somebody has got to have a second course, so we can have something to pull up in the basket. The first time you order, the waiter comes up; but the second time he puts the things in a basket, and we pull. I speak to do the pulling.”
“Why can’t we start this kind of tea-room in New York, Madeline?” asked Babbie eagerly. “A three-story tea-room is even nicer than a two-story tram. And the basket is a beautiful feature. People would just flock to see it work.” She pulled it up herself by way of illustration.
“Be sure to have strawberry tarts on the menu, and I’ll flock for one,” said Mr. Dwight, helping himself to another of the tarts in question.
“Things are more expensive in New York,” Madeline warned him. “You won’t be able to afford ten tarts, even if you are ravenously hungry.”
“You could call it the Peter Pan Tea-Rooms,” put in Betty. “It’s exactly like the last scene in the play, except that there aren’t any fairies.”
“You can’t ever be sure of that, you know, Miss Wales,” Mr. Dwight took her up.
Babe listened absently to all the idle chatter, drinking her hot tea conscientiously and thinking hard. And because she was serious and silent John was also, trying to guess at her thoughts.
“The best way to tell whether you want a thing is to think how you would feel to have to get along without it all your life.” Babe came out of her brown study to hear Madeline saying it. She gave a little start, caught Betty’s eye fixed upon her as much as to say, “Listen to that now,” and blushed furiously; then she looked at John and blushed hotter still.
“What in the world are you all talking about?” she demanded. “I was thinking of something else.”
“Babbie’s elegant new clothes,” explained Madeline coolly, “and my philosophy of clothes, which is not to bother with them.”