Sue chuckled. "I was just remarking, Mrs. Balcome," she replied, "that you wouldn't bite Hattie's father."
Mrs. Balcome, her face dyeing with the effort, set down the tiny dog upon the cherished Brussels. "Don't be so sure!" she cautioned. She had a deep voice that rumbled.
Hattie pointed a finger at Sue. "Ah-h-a-a-a!" she triumphed.
"Ah-h-a-a-a-a!" mocked her mother. Then coming closer, and looking the wedding-dress over critically, "Rehearsing, eh, in your wedding-dress! What would Buffalo think if it saw you!" With which rebuff, she sank, blowing, upon the couch, and drew Mrs. Milo down beside her.
"Oh, why didn't you have your parents toss up?" asked Sue.
"Pitchforks?" inquired Hattie.
"No! To see which one would be unavoidably called out of town."
"Oh, I've tried compromise," said the girl, wearily.
"Well, ABC mediation never was much of a success up around Buffalo," went on Sue, her eyes twinkling with fun. "Ho-hum! The Secretary of State"—she indicated herself—"will see what she can do." And strolling to the sofa, "Mrs. Balcome, hadn't we better talk this rehearsal over with the head of the house?"
Mrs. Balcome swept round. "Talk?" she cried. "Talk? Why, I never speak to him."