“Good luck, Miss Tommy!”
“Bye, bye, Tomsie!”
“Don’t stay away too long!”
These sentiments were being called from the Hoboken dock to the deck of an ocean steamer, while a young lady, buried in bouquets and bonbons, leaned over the rail, sparkling, inciting, compelling, responding.
“Take care of yourself, Tommy!”
“I don’t see but that I must! Nobody else to do it!” she responded saucily.
“You wouldn’t let ’em if they tried!” This from a rosy-cheeked youngster who was as close to the water’s edge as safety permitted. “Say, did you guess what my floral offering was to be when you trimmed your hat? I am flattered!”
“Sorry! The hat was trimmed weeks ago, and I’m wearing your bouquet because it matches.”
“Thanks, awfully,” replied the crestfallen youth. “Plans for reduction of head-size constantly on file in Miss Tucker’s office.”
“Just Carl’s luck to hit on a match.”