Belinda didn't argue the question.
"I'm writing out a whole new will. The other was all mussy and scratched up from being changed so often. Doesn't that look neat?"
She held up a sheet of paper which bore, in systematic grouping, a plan for filling the funeral carriages. Belinda glanced at it.
"Why, where's George Pettingill?" she asked, with a twinkle in her eye.
Amelia tossed her head.
"If he goes to my funeral he can take the trolley," she said with profound indifference. "You see I've only put three people down for the first carriage. I thought I'd just leave one place vacant, in case——"
"Exactly," said Belinda.
Before the successor to the Columbia Sophomore appeared upon the horizon to complicate the carriage problem anew, the funeral fad had run its course and the wills of Amelia and her satellites had gone the way of all waste paper.