“Well, anyway, we have enough weddings to arrange for this summer,” sighed Babbie Hildreth. “I certainly think we ought to make out our schedule of dates right away now, while we’re here together.”
“Do stop talking about that wedding schedule, Babbie,” protested Babe. “It sounds exactly like a matrimonial bureau.”
“Well, what’s the matter with matrimonial bureaus?” Madeline came gaily to Babbie’s rescue. “Aren’t we all disciples of Betty’s congenial occupation theory? And isn’t marriage a congenial occupation for more of us than any other one pursuit? I think that Betty ought to establish a matrimonial bureau-department in her famous Congenial Employment Agency.”
“I will,” laughed Betty, “if you’ll run it.”
“Oh, let me run it,” begged Babe. “I should love to make matches. Only I’m not a bit businesslike. Father Morton says—— Good gracious! That reminds me of something.” Babe’s face was a study in dismay. “Father Morton had dinner with us the day I wired Bob about coming up for this ‘frisk.’ When he heard about it he said he’d come too, but then he remembered he couldn’t, so he sat down at my desk and wrote a letter to Betty. Goodness, how he did rage about my stub pens! He traced all the troubles of modern civilization to stub pens.”
“And did he stop writing the letter because the pens didn’t suit?” inquired Betty mildly.
Babe started. “I told you I wasn’t businesslike. I go off so on tangents. Yes, he finished the letter with John’s fountain pen—which he also raged at—and gave it to me to take to you. He said it was important. It’s in my shopping bag this minute, just where I put it when he gave it to me. We’d better go right back and find it—we ought to, anyway, because it’s getting dark, and my man doesn’t know the road. Wouldn’t Father Morton be up in the air if he knew I’d forgotten his important letter all this long time?”
A search of Babe’s shopping bag disclosed no letter, important or otherwise. A general shake-up of her luggage also failed to bring to light the missing communication. Finally, under protest, Babe opened the shiny hat trunk, and there right on top was the letter, fat and imposing in its long, official-looking envelope.
“Oh, I remember now,” Babe confessed. “I put it in there on purpose, so I’d be sure to see it when I took out my best hat. As if anybody ever wore best hats, or any hats, in this lovely, comfortable spot! I’m very sorry, Betty, though I always think it does Father Morton good to be kept waiting.”
Betty laughed. “Then I shall put all the blame on you,” she said, and took her letter and Madeline off to the Tally-ho, where a big dinner with features for the following night made necessary a conference between the manager and her chief furnisher of inspirations.