“Girls, that reminds me,” said Puddy. “I met a publisher from New York at the opera last night who objected to the slightest slang.”
“Oh, me!” exclaimed Hilda. “Why, where has Mother Nature been keeping the dear man all these years?”
“On Mr. Sheldon's editorial staff,” suggested Nannie Branscome.
“Oh, that's too bad, Nannie,” exclaimed Prudence. “My father—and he's not a religious man—said the Topeka Capital was a wonderful paper Sheldon's week.”
“I'm not denying that,” said Nannie. “I believe it was wonderful. I believe and tremble.”
“With other little——”
“Sh-h!” said the president, and Hilda subsided.
“Was Amy Frisbe at the opera last night?” asked Puddy rather irrelevantly.
“No,” said Hilda, “but Arthur Driscol was. He sat in a box with the Gorman party and was devoted to Mamie Moore all the evening. If I'd been Mrs. Gorman I'd dropped him over the railing.”
“You don't mean that Amy Frisbe has been jilted?” exclaimed the president.