"Never mind, dear, there's still hope," remarked Mollie, patting her arm soothingly. "The doctor said, with absolute rest and quiet, you might get over it."
Betty chuckled. Grace did not, for the reason that her feet were beginning to hurt and she did not feel in a chuckling mood.
"Well, I don't know but what there's something in your idea after all, Amy," she said, while Amy looked immensely gratified. "I'm in favor of anything that cuts out walking."
"'Cuts out'?" queried Mollie reprovingly.
"Yes, cuts out," returned Grace, sticking to her guns. "What do you say, Betty? Don't you think Amy has the right idea?"
"Well," said Betty diplomatically, while her eyes twinkled at the imaginary spectacle of whirling through the streets of the town, blowing raucously on horns and making stump speeches from the running board of the machine, "it would at least have the advantage of being spectacular—"
"There, Mollie!" cried Amy, not waiting for her to finish, the light of triumph in her eyes. "You see it's three to one. Now, what have you got to say for yourself?"
"Nothing," remarked Mollie dryly, "except to suggest that you wait until Betty gets through. I imagine she hadn't said all she wanted to on the subject."
"Hadn't you, Betty?" queried Amy, a trifle disconcerted and looking back at Betty over her shoulder.
"We-ll," said Betty slowly, "I never say a thing can't be done until it's tried—"