“Nerve’s my middle name,” declared Zoe, with a toss of her head. “But the trouble with me is Mother. She’s prowling about somewhere in the festal chamber, and she never appreciates my originality.”
“Let’s eat,” suggested Elsa Carmichael, the Minister’s second daughter. “That always fills up time.”
“My time’s stuffed full,” observed Mona. “Had an awfully late lunch.”
Their shrieks of laughter sounded above the din.
“Sh—sh—sh—!” warned Zoe. “Little Nell from Pinto Plains is looking at us.”
“Well, let’s do something,” insisted the first speaker. “Couldn’t we go upstairs and hide things?”
Mona objected that this form of recreation was stale.
“We might smear their tooth brushes with cold cream,” suggested Elsa.
“Perhaps they don’t use them,” Zoe returned.
“I say,” cried Mona, suddenly alive to a new thought, “how many olives can you hold in your mouth at once?”