"Why, Bertha Kitts, you must be crazy! Nothing could induce me to think of it for a moment—nothing! It would be the worst possible influence!"
Biscuits argued gently. Her three years of consistent good sense and politeness stood in her favor, and though Mrs. Harrow had no sense of humor whatever, she was enabled to perceive a certain poetic justice in the plan set before her.
"You know, Mrs. Harrow," she concluded, "that at bottom they're both nice girls! They're awfully irritating at times, and of course you feel that they've both occasioned a great deal of trouble; but they're both honorable, and I'm sure it will be all right: truly, I'd be willing to take the responsibility—if I can get them to consent to it!"
"Very well," said Mrs. Harrow, unwillingly, "you know them both better than I do, Bertha, of course, and it certainly couldn't be any worse than it is! But at the first outbreak I shall take the matter into my own hands, and act very severely, if necessary!"
Biscuits went directly upstairs and sought out Martha Williams, who lounged on the couch with Loti in her hand and a bag of chocolate peppermints in her lap. Her room-mate, observing that Biscuits glanced at the clock as she entered, murmured something about getting a History note-book and obligingly disappeared.
"That's a good harmless creature," observed Biscuits, approvingly.
"Yes, she's in very good training," the creature's room-mate returned. "Have a peppermint?"
"Pity she can't room with Alberta May," said Biscuits, lightly; "she'd give her no trouble!"
"Lord, no!" Martha agreed; "she wouldn't trouble a fly!"
Biscuits wandered about the room and absent-mindedly picked up a sheaf of papers.