One afternoon Archibald Hollister came home early and ran right into the "Pink Tea" crowd. Old Mrs. Hollister, tastefully gowned in black and white, sat in the library where the maids brought up refreshments to her. A young musician whose mother had been a schoolmate of Mrs. Hollister's, and who was poor, played the piano from four to seven for the small sum of three dollars. Everything went off pleasantly. The maids acted as though they were really fixtures in the house. The refreshments were excellent. No wonder with the line of autos before the door people considered the Hollisters wealthy, "but plain and solid with no airs, etc."
Old Mrs. Hollister enjoyed young people's society, and they all voted her a dear. She'd invite their confidences, and before leaving each girl would come up to the library for a chat with Grandmother.
"Oh, Mrs. Hollister," said Lottie Owen, a girl of Ethel's age, "have you heard about the 'turkey trot?' We can't dance it any more,—it's been suppressed."
"How does it go?" asked the old lady. "I've read something of it."
"Well, just wait,—I'll get Nannie Bigelow and we'll dance it for you."
Thereupon the two girls would show Grandmother Hollister the steps.
"That's something like the 'Boston Dip,'" responded she very much excited. "Why, when I was a girl my mother took me away from a cotillion one night because they danced it," and she grew pretty as she excitedly told of her younger days.
"I bet you were lovely, Mrs. Hollister," said Nannie. "Ethel will never be as pretty as you were. We were looking at your portrait in the drawing room. You must have been fascinating, and as for Mr. Hollister—your husband—well, he was just a dear."
The old lady blushed. Here Lottie spoke up:
"Yes, and people say you were such a belle. Old Mr. Tupper was at our house and met Ethel, and he told us a lot about you. But here's Mr. Hollister," and they rushed forward to greet her son.