The feather boa looked like the hawser on a canal boat, and the ashes had changed the pattern of her dress goods.
We were stingy talkers on the road home.
It will take me two years to square myself.
Hereafter, me to the trolley!
Me to the saucy stage coach when I'm due to gallop away and away!
No more benzine buggies for yours sincerely!
Never again for the bughouse barouche! Not me.
I have only one consolation: The chap we pried off the bicycle was Clarence Edgerton Montrose.
It will take him about three years and two months to find all the spots that foolish-wagon knocked off him.
Meantime, I hope to be Clara Jane's sugar buyer again.