Seeing Claudine at the corner of 8th and Central, waiting for the Open
Car, one would not have suspected that she harbored Intentions on the
Court Circles of Europe.
One would merely have guessed that she was on her way to the Drug Store to purchase much Camphor.
But she had taken a peek at the Palm Rooms and the powdered Lackeys and the Tea Riot at the Plaza, and she was panting inwardly.
She wanted to hang a silver Bell around her neck and go galloping with the white-faced Thoroughbreds.
It was no good trying to work up Speed on a half-mile track in the
Prairie Loam.
Once in a while Claudine made a bold Sashay to start something devilish, but the Fillies trained on the Farm did not seem gaited for the Grand Circuit.
As for the Servant Problem, it was something ferocious. City Help could not be lured to the Tall Grass, and all the Locals had been schooled at the Railway Eating-House.
Elam and Claudine had a Cook named Gusta, born somewhere near the
Arctic Circle in Europe.
Her fried Chicken drowned in thick Gravy came under the head of Regular
Food.
She could turn out Waffles as long as there was a Customer in sight.
The Biscuits on which she specialized were light as Down.