“She’s dippy—I tell you she’s gone dippy,” he snorted angrily. “That’s all there is about it. Clean dippy.”
“Oh, Benjamin,” said Cousin Georgiana soothingly, “don’t condemn her too rashly. We must remember what dear old Shakespeare says—that charity thinketh no evil.”
“Charity! Poppy-cock!” snorted Uncle Benjamin. “I never heard a young woman talk such stuff in my life as she just did. Talking about things she ought to be ashamed to think of, much less mention. Blaspheming! Insulting us! What she wants is a generous dose of spank-weed and I’d like to be the one to administer it. H-uh-h-h-h!” Uncle Benjamin gulped down the half of a scalding cup of coffee.
“Do you suppose that the mumps could work on a person that way?” wailed Cousin Stickles.
“I opened an umbrella in the house yesterday,” sniffed Cousin Georgiana. “I knew it betokened some misfortune.”
“Have you tried to find out if she has a temperature?” asked Cousin Mildred.
“She wouldn’t let Amelia put the thermometer under her tongue,” whimpered Cousin Stickles.
Mrs. Frederick was openly in tears. All her defences were down.
“I must tell you,” she sobbed, “that Valancy has been acting very strangely for over two weeks now. She hasn’t been a bit like herself—Christine could tell you. I have hoped against hope that it was only one of her colds coming on. But it is—it must be something worse.”
“This is bringing on my neuritis again,” said Cousin Gladys, putting her hand to her head.