“In this hard world, my children, virtue is often its only reward,” Mary reminded them sweetly. “Run away now and play.”
“Let’s spite them by stalking out of their old tea-shop and transferring our valuable patronage to Cuyler’s,” suggested Georgia.
“I’m too tired to stir,” protested Fluffy. “Let’s stay here and play a lovely party of our own right under their noses, and never ask them to come.”
“Let’s sit down quick.”
“Shall we begin with sundaes or lemonade?”
“With both,” announced Fluffy with decision, smiling so persuasively at Nora that she abandoned two fussy heads of departments, who wanted more hot water, milk for their tea instead of lemon, and steamed muffins instead of toasted, while she supplied Fluffy, first with hairpins from the box that Betty kept in her desk on purpose for such emergencies, and then with three sundaes and two cold drinks.
Fluffy arranged the five glasses in an artistic crescent in front of her, and sipped and tasted happily.
“You’re not true sports,” she told the others, who had been content to begin with one order each. “You won’t be hungry after the second thing you order—or maybe the third for Georgia-of-the-huge-appetite—and then you’ll stop, whereas I——” She waved her hand around the inviting crescent. “The fateful check is made out, and I can eat ’em or leave ’em—it’s all the same to my pocketbook and the Tally-ho. I wish Betty Wales would come out and say if I’m not the Perfect Patron this trip.”
“Well, she won’t,” declared Straight practically, “and if she should you’d better remember that it’s your duty to act very haughty and independent. Come on now and think up something nice for us to do.”
“Wish we knew what B. C. A. meant,” Georgia reflected. “Then we could parody it.”