“Don’t do it, Aggie,” begged Neale O’Neil, after watching her at dinner the second day. “Remember what devastation you are causing. This is a rich steamship line; but profits won’t stand many such passengers as you are proving to be.”
“I know it!” cried his friend delightedly. “One would never think I had been eating at home, but would believe I had been saving up for this occasion. Do ask the steward for some more tongue, Neale. I’m ashamed to.”
“‘Every part strengthens a part,’” said Neale, quoting Mrs. MacCall. “I don’t know about that tongue, Aggie. You weren’t behind the door when they were giving tongues out.”
“Is that so!” and she tossed her head.
“But, still,” he added, his eyes twinkling, “this is the tongue that never gossiped, so perhaps it won’t hurt you to have a little more,” and he summoned the waiter.
“I like your impudence!” Agnes exclaimed. “Do you think I am in training to occupy Miss Titus’ exalted position when I get to be her age?”
“Don’t know. Can’t tell. You are getting kind of dried up and ancient, Aggie. I’m worried about you,” teased the boy.
“I’m not worried about you,” said she, tossing her head again. “I know just how you are going to turn out, Neale O’Neil.”
“How?” he inquired curiously.
“Bad.”