“A catering company?” Mary stared. “There isn’t such a thing in Harding.”
“Well, a tea-shop corporation then,” Madeline amended briskly. “We are that, you know. We’ve come up here to establish ourselves. Meanwhile we are not above displaying our talents for the benefit of our very best friends. Betty says she can cook, and Babbie and I are bursting with ideas for original menus and beautiful table decorations. Have you a waitress?”
“Yes, but she’s very green and needs piles of coaching. Betty, please explain a few of Madeline’s riddles.”
“Come up to Cuyler’s first,” suggested Babbie. “It’s such a very long story.”
So the story was told, in all its ramifications, over many cups of Cuyler’s hot chocolate, and Mary went into ecstasies over the idea of a tea-shop in Harding, and into more ecstasies over the prospect of having Betty, and probably Madeline, so near her. Then she returned to the subject of her dinner.
“Would you really cook it, Betty?”
“Would you really trust her to cook it?” jeered Madeline.
“Yes, because there’s absolutely nothing else to be done,” said Mary, so dismally that everybody else shrieked with laughter.
“Very well then,” agreed Madeline. “You and Betty go and do your marketing, and Babbie and I will examine tea-room sites. We ought not to lose any time, you know,” she added impressively, with a sly glance at Betty.
“Don’t decide everything without me,” begged Betty innocently.