At room nineteen the girls were having the first fun of the season, which meant that the fun should be of the very jolliest character. Tavia had brewed the tea, and the others insisted upon drinking it without ceremony, each declaring she was choked, and apologizing for the lack of courtesy in not having waited for Dorothy, on the plea that Nineteen’s teapot didn’t hold enough, anyhow, in spite of a “keg” of hot water that was being drawn from for each cup, so that, according to Ned, Tavia should make fresh tea for Dorothy, and incidentally pass it around.
“My brand of tea is not for loafers,” declared Tavia, jokingly, “and I refuse to open the bag until you girls have earned a treat. I expected to have a regular affair Wednesday night.”
“Well, just give us a sample copy,” begged Ned. “You always did have the very best tea—”
“Positively the most delicious,” put in Cologne.
“Without question the most aromatic—” added Molly Richards, while, at a sly wink from Ned, Tavia was seized, placed on the divan, bound with the big Bagdad cover, while the girls not engaged in keeping her there, proceeded to get at Tavia’s cupboard, and not only did they get the tea, but a box of bonbons, a box of crackers, and the choicest of school girl dainties—a half dozen of real sour pickles!
Tavia only moaned. She could not move, and she knew it was useless to argue.
Miette sat there in evident delight. She was still too timid to take any other part in the proceedings.
“But, girls,” begged Dorothy, “you really ought to leave her the pickles. We almost missed our train in getting them—”
“Oh, yes,” followed Tavia. “Take anything else. ‘Take, if you must, this poor gray head, but spare my pickles, do,’ she said,” she quoted.
“But this is our last chance,” persisted Ned, burying her lips in the largest green “cucumber” she could select from the bag. “Whew!” and she made a very sour face, “these certainly would keep—they’re briny enough. Perhaps you girls had better not take any,” and she continued to devour the sample. “These would be lovely for a picnic. I can’t see—why pickles,” and she paused for breath that seemed to go with each swallow, “are eliminated from the bill of fare of this establishment.”