“Evelyn,” cried Lucy, shocked, “you’re getting most horribly slangy.”
“Oh, Lucy, you look so funny, trying to be severe in that rig! It can’t be done!” And, with a laugh, she plumped down on something hard and lumpy, which proved 103 to be Jessie’s feet. The outraged owner objected promptly and emphatically.
“Oh, Jessie, I’m so sorry! Are those your feet?” cried Evelyn, in concern.
“No; they are Lucy’s,” said Jessie, coldly, rubbing the injured members gingerly.
Lucile laughed merrily. “Don’t you go slandering my poor feet,” she cried. “Anyway, it serves you right for being so lazy, Jess.”
“Oh, does it? Well, I’ll just prove you wrong by beating you all on deck, One, two, three—we’re off!”
Then ensued a great amount of talk and laughter and wild scrambling for clothing that would get out of sight, until at the end of half an hour, our girls made a dash for the door at precisely the same instant.
“Oh, that’s not fair,” cried Evelyn, as Lucile wrenched open the door and ran straight into the arms of the rather stout, middle-aged matron who happened to be passing.
“Oh,” she gasped, “I—I beg your pardon! I——”
“Look first, and you will save your apologies,” said the sweet-tempered lady, who, to do her justice, was considerably shaken by the impact.