She was enamored of Annette instantly. Elvira and Mabel made themselves friends for life of Maggie Price by tolling the brilliant bird of passage to the Price gate.
“Do come up to-night, Miss Bowman—and bring your brother, of course. It’s quite informal. Pa is acquainted with Mr. Bowman; I’m not and I’m just dying to meet him. But he hasn’t had much time since he’s been in Polktown for anybody or anything but Janice Day and her new automobile. I’m just dying to have a car myself; but pa won’t hear to it. He says he doesn’t want anything in the stable that he can’t stop by saying ‘Whoa!’ You will come? That’s so nice. You’ll come, too, now—’Vira and Maybelle—won’t you? Well, now, do!”
To be invited to the Price house was to enter the Golden Gate of Polktown society. Annette dragged Frank off to the dull reception after his hard day’s work; but the young civil engineer attended her with little complaint. He really loved his sister, and Annette showed him the most lovable side of her character.
Some of the young traveling men—drummers Polktown people called them—had actually stayed over their usual time at the Inn because of Annette’s appearance at the general table. But the presence of Frank and the stern oversight of good Mrs. Parraday guarded the foolish Annette from any unpleasant consequences of her gay appearance.
“That gal,” the innkeeper’s wife confessed to her neighbor, “ain’t no more responsible than a butterfly—and she flits about jest as perky an’ unsuspicious. Her brother left her in my care when he’s off to his work daytimes, and any of them drummers that try to git fermiliar with the foolish gal is goin’ to git a broadside from Ma’am Parraday that they won’t forgit!”
Annette went to Major Price’s arrayed in a party gown such as never had been seen in Polktown before. Frank, who knew a little something about the village standards, made his sister wear some lacy stuff tucked into the upper part of the frock.
“Talk about the lilies of the field bein’ dressy,” drawled Marty, who had chanced to observe Frank and his sister as they left the hotel for the party, and came home to tell about it, “they ain’t got nothin’ on Annette Bowman, believe me! I expect Frank’s used to seeing girls in New York dressed like that; but, crackey, Janice! if you was to put on clo’es like she wears I’d be ashamed to walk out to the cow-barn with ye.”
“Why, Marty!” laughed Janice. “She can’t be dressed as badly as all that.”
“I’d love to see that dress,” his mother said, with a sigh. “It must be lovely!”
“Lovely—huh!” snorted Marty, in deep disdain.