“Oh, fiddlesticks! What is the use of making a splurge when there is no one to see it?” grumbled Emma.
“Wurra, child!” cried Irish Nora. “This is no traveling show for the benefit of the natives.”
“Nora is perfectly right,” agreed Grace. “We are here for our own enjoyment, and, though perhaps we may be a show in ourselves, we do not propose to perform for the edification of the public if we can avoid it.”
“What is this I hear about a show?” cried J. Elfreda, at that moment entering the hotel parlor with Anne.
Nora explained that Emma wished to drive away in style.
“Wait! Just wait, Emma, until we return from this trip of ours. If we do not show the Globites something new in styles after we have passed through the refining influences of the Apache Trail, I shall admit that I am not a prophetess,” laughed Elfreda. “I just now saw Hippy with his coat off working on that old ark, that he calls a stagecoach, before an admiring audience of natives. He was making himself conspicuous. Are we expected to trust life and limb to that ancient craft, Grace Harlowe?”
“We are and we shall,” answered Grace.
“Then I think those of you who have property had better make your wills before embarking. Nora, this applies especially to you and Hippy who so recently have come into a fortune. Grace made her will before going overseas to drive an ambulance on the French front, but Emma, having spent all her money on finery, had no need to make a will.”
“How about yourself?” questioned Grace teasingly.
“I am merely a struggling young lawyeress who isn’t supposed to have money to will, and who most assuredly has no clients to pay her any. Isn’t it about time for luncheon?”