“Gee,” remarked Nickey, who quickly saw himself captaining a body of likely young blades, “that’d be some lively corpse, believe me. When can we start in, Mrs. Maxwell?”
“You must ask Mr. Maxwell all about that, Nickey,” she laughed.
“But not now,” interposed his mother. “You come along with me this minute, and let Mr. Maxwell have a bit of peace; I know how he just loves these teas. Good night, all!” she called as she departed with her son under her wing.
“Donald! Wasn’t it all fun—and weren’t they all splendid?” Betty glowed.
“More fun than a barrel of Bascoms—monkeys, I mean,” he corrected himself, laughing at Betty’s shocked expression.
