"What's the objection? I'd have mine there quicker 'n scat if I could. I will some time—bet you. And not in any office togs either."
"But don't dream of rivalry. She isn't real; she's only a beautiful myth. What will you take next—roast beef?"
"I don't mind; yes. When I'm alone I usually skip right from soup to pie—or pudding. But I guess I will take something a little solider this time; nothing makes me tireder than sitting still and fidgeting." She tapped her toes on the mosaic pavement, and gave a hitch and a pat to the dimity curtain alongside her. "I squirmed around for an hour, with a whole bookful of other people's notes that I might have been writing out. What sort of a young fellow is he?"
"He has his own way."
"Only child, I suppose?"
"N—no."
"Only son?"
"No—yes—I don't know. How do you like your work?"
"Middling. I'm terrible enterprising, but I guess I was never meant for a drudge. Say, what does a patroness really do?"
"Oh, nothing much; she just has her name on the list. Sometimes they don't even go."