“Certainly. Mother said that yesterday at her club, out of eight women they elected twelve officers and appointed seven committees of three each. Why, you know two men can't meet on a street corner without immediately forming a secret society, electing president, vice-president, secretary, and treasurer, and appointing a committee of five to get up a banquet.”
“But to return to the subject,” persisted the president—a long-faced girl with a solemn countenance, but a suspicious gleam in her eye. “'How to Cook Wives'—that is the question before the house.”
“'How to Cook Wives!' Well, if that isn't rich! It makes me think of the old English nursery song—'Come, ducky, come and be killed.' Now it will be, 'Come, ducky, come and be cooked.' I move that Congress be urged to enact a law adopting that phrase as the only legal form of proposal. Then if any little goose accepts she knows what to expect, and is not caught up and fried without foreknowledge.”
“Young ladies,” said the president.
“Don't mow me down in my prime,” urged Hilda in an injured tone. “I'm making my maiden speech in the house.”
“Oh, girls, look, quick!” cried Puddy. “See Miss Leigh. Isn't that a fetching gown she has on?”
The entire club rushed to the window.
“Who's she with?” asked Hilda. “He's rather fetching, too.”
“I believe his name is Chance,” said Puddy Kennett. “He's not a society fellow.”
“Oh, he's the chum of that lovely man,” said Hilda.