“There, there,” Docky said, in her best professional tone. “It’s just as well—Drewena loves him.”
“‘Him’?” screeched Daisy, fascinated.
“Don’t get so excited, Daisy. Remember your blood pressure,” said Docky calmly. “Of course, ‘him’! The boy’s as jam as the preserves you used to steal off your mother’s shelf!”
“Absurd!” said Beulah. “She has a grand dash!”
“On the edge, dearie, but he’s never fallen off, and I doubt if he ever will. The habit pattern has unfortunately fixated him for women. Ah!—if I could have had him to mold some years ago!”
“‘Jam’!” cried Daisy once more, her hands to her ears.
Docky pushed back the wisps of gray hair from her forehead and took out her left eye, wiping it carefully.
“Mercy!” said Beulah. “Must you do that in company?” She tossed her head angrily. “And don’t tell us how you lost your real one at Ypres! There!” She pointed swiftly toward the punchbowl. “I knew it! Kate is trying to snitch Miriam from Drewena!”
“Common!” said the same sepulchral voice that had uttered this word before.