“No, indeed.”
Cathalina was deftly fashioning a placard as Hilary and Lilian entered, and Betty was sitting in a rocking chair by the table, a green shade over her eyes, her elbows on her knees, fists on both sides of her head, and a text book on her lap.
“We stopped a minute to talk to the ‘Y’ president about Saturday night,” said Lilian. “Look at Betty! She has already begun her year’s labors.”
“It’s time,” said Betty without looking up.
“How does this look?” inquired Cathalina, holding up the completed placard.
“Fine,” replied Hilary, reading it aloud. “‘Lakeview. Busy.’ Don’t waste a moment, Cathie, but get it up. Where’s my good old kimono, friend of study hours? Can we keep from talking?”
“Got to,” Betty offered.
“Driving it in with your fists, Betty?” Lilian brazenly looked over Betty’s shoulders, discovered that Betty was studying history, and tiptoed away with pretense of great effort to tread lightly.
Betty, looking out of the corner of her eyes, saw Lilian’s painful limp and giggled.
Cathalina came in from putting up the placard. “I have a suggestion. We’ll all pitch in with all our might till the bell, and then gabble as fast as possible till lights out.”