“They are very bad for the teeth,” ventured Miette, “we do not eat them in—France.”
“French people not eat pickles?” spoke up Nita, “why, I always understood—”
“Not French people, but French girls,” corrected Dorothy, immediately on the defensive. “Ned, when you have finished with your ‘dessert,’ perhaps you will hand around some of these crackers.”
“De-lighted!” responded Edna, swallowing the stem of her pickle. “But, honest, Tavia, I never did taste or experience anything so deliciously sour. I believe I’m embalmed,” and she doubled up in apprehension.
“Sour things I have known,” remarked Adele Thomas. “The new teacher, Miss Bylow, for instance.”
“Oh, she certainly is the real thing in sours,” chimed in Amy Brooks.
“And what a name—Bylow. It ought to have been ByGeorge or Bygosh,” declared Cologne. “Never ‘Bylow’ in hers. But we had best be cautious,” with a finger on her lips, “I understand the new lady is scientific. There’s a tube in the hall, you will remember, and she may have attached some little old phonographic wax plate and be taking us ‘all in.’”
“And she squints,” Nita informed them.
“That’s a mercy,” declared Edna, “for she won’t be able to tell whether we’re winking or blinking. And sometimes it’s very convenient to wink and call it a blink, eh, Tavia?”
As the refreshments had been served, Tavia was allowed to sit up and have her own share, and now insisted upon Miette finishing the last of the tea with her.