"Don't drink it if you don't like it," said Miss Billy, refusing to be friendly.
"Like it! Why it's awful! It tastes like spruce gum and carbolic acid and chloroform all mixed up. Smell it, Miss Billy."
"When you were little, mother used to wash your mouth with soap when you told falsehoods. It is probably some hazy recollection of that which is perverting your taste."
Theodore was taking another cautious sip. "It's a little like sauerkraut, but it has the effervescence of soda water. It's the most curious stuff I ever tasted."
Miss Billy unbent sufficiently to put her nose to the glass.
"Why, it smells like yeast," she said wonderingly.
"That's what it is," said Theodore, snapping his fingers triumphantly. "I knew it wasn't chloroform or carbolic, but I couldn't just name it. It's yeast!"
"But what can yeast be doing in the frappé?" questioned Miss Billy unbelievingly. Then as a sudden light broke upon her, she exclaimed, "Oh, Ted,—Beatrice must have gotten the yeast bottle instead of the Apollinaris water!—and for the Blanchard girls of all others! They are in there trying to drink it now. What shall we do?"
"Nothing," said Theodore decidedly,—"they've drank it by this time. You watch how they will 'rise' to go. 'Sweets to the sweet,'—likewise yeast to the yeasty. Dear girls,—how airily their feet will spurn the pave. And it will do Miss Blanche good! She's as flat as an oatmeal cracker."