Drink ’em down!
Here’s to Betty Wales & Co.
They’ll be sure to make things go!
Drink ’em down,
Drink ’em down,
Drink ’em down, down, down!”
Betty, standing with Georgia’s arm around her, gave a little shiver.
“What’s the trouble? Are you catching cold?” whispered Georgia anxiously.
“No, nothing,” Betty whispered back. Well, there wasn’t—anything at least that you told people, except perhaps Miss Ferris, who had been kept from the private view by an important department meeting. It was only what K. had once laughingly dubbed “growing pains,”—the same frightened feeling that you had the first time your brother teased you to swim out over your depth, and you weren’t a bit sure he could rescue you if you went down. Also, it had taken Betty the whole long afternoon to clean and fill the carriage lamps that every one was exclaiming over. Cleaning lamps didn’t come under the head of either waiting on table or cooking. Betty wondered, with a tired little sigh, who would do it all the other days.