Beatrice was too tired to be horrified. "I knew she would do something dreadful," she said, "but I, certainly, shall offer no criticism."
It was a tired little family group that gathered in the minister's study that night.
"I had no idea," said Theodore, from the couch, "that it used a fellow up so to have a gay time. I took dinner at the 'Alhambra,' ordering the best the place afforded, only cutting out the wines. That cost me two dollars, and I tipped the waiter with a quarter. Then I took a cab to the horse show, and took in the matinee on the way back. It cost me a dollar for a seat in the parquet. I didn't have enough money left for supper, so I ate two mince pies at a restaurant and I've got a nickel left."
"Well," said Miss Billy, "it comes easier to tell my story since I've heard Theodore's. I've always had the greatest desire to ride on the top of an omnibus and look at things from that point of view. I knew for appearance's sake I couldn't trundle back and forth from the trains, so I hired a whole omnibus for myself, with a driver, to take me out into the country. It was grand! It seemed as though the whole world was unrolled before me! It gave me a feeling of being some great bird flying through the air——"
"A wild goose, for instance!" put in Theodore disgustedly.
"Well I'm not an ostrich, anyhow, to eat all a hotel affords and two mince pies on top of it!" retorted Miss Billy, with spirit. "That omnibus ride cost me four dollars, but it was worth it. Then I bought a box of chocolates and came home."
"Now I suppose it's my turn," said the minister. "The first thing I saw when I left the house this morning was a load of watermelons. They were unusually fine melons, and the boy offered me the whole wagon load dirt cheap."
"Father!" broke in Miss Billy tragically, "what can I do with the rinds of a wagon load of watermelons, to say nothing of the seeds? We couldn't clean it up in weeks!"
"I had an idea your mother pickled the rinds," said the minister mildly.
"Consider pickling a wagon load of watermelon rinds," groaned Beatrice. "Beside, papa, we don't pickle the shell!"