“Girls,” said the president, “only think! Tom says this club is actually making me masculine.”
“Mercy, you must have convinced him that you had the better of him in an argument,” cried the girl with the Roman nose.
“No—but I forgot to mail some letters he intrusted to me the other day when he was going out of town. By the way, it seems to me that when legislation is in the hands of women. What are you girls whispering about over there in the corner?”
“We are only comparing samples of bicycle suitings,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “Dorothy has a larger selection than I, and—”
“Why, I have a lot of them, myself,” said the president. “Has anybody seen my hand-bag since I came in?”
“Here it is,” said the girl with the Roman nose. “I’ve just been comparing your samples with mine, and I find—”
“Goodness me, I’m late,” said the brown-eyed blonde, as she bounced into the room. “I just stopped on my way here to look at a new design for bicycle suits, and—”
“I’ve been trying for half a block to catch you, Frances,” said the girl with the classic profile, as she opened the door, in turn; “I’ve been looking at the new bicycles, and was detained longer than I expected.”
“Oh, shall you get a new wheel this year?” asked the president.
“No, dear,” returned the girl with the classic profile; “but, of course, I wanted to see what they are like.”