Mr. Belding began to chuckle, and she turned on him now with some exasperation.
“James!” she said, warmly. “I believe you support these children in their careless use of English, and in their other crimes against the niceties of our existence. Chet is as boisterous and rough as—as a street boy. And Laura uses most shocking language at times, I declare.”
“Oh, Mother Mine! why drag me into it?” laughed Laura, while her father added:
“Isn’t ‘crimes’ a rather strong word in this instance, Mother?”
“I do not care!” cried the good lady, much disturbed. “Chetwood uses language that I know my mother would never have allowed at Her table. And Laura is so taken up with these dreadful athletics that she cares nothing for the things which used to interest me when I was a girl. She really doesn’t like to pour tea for me Wednesday afternoons.”
“I admit it,” said Laura, sotto voce.
“Do you blame her?” added Chet, grumblingly.
“Thank goodness! I was brought up differently,” declared Mrs. Belding, sternly. “We girls were not allowed to do such awful things-even in private—as you do, Laura, in your gymnasium——”
“Hear! hear!” cried Father Belding, finally rapping on the table with the handle of his knife. “I must say a word here. Mother, you are too hard on the young folks.”
“No I am not, James,” said the good lady, bridling.