“But she needed it,” said Tavia, in her absurd way of turning a joke into kindness. “I was afraid she wouldn’t find it.”
“Better be afraid she does not find you,” said Dorothy. “Miss Mingle is a dear, but she won’t like leaky feather beds dropped on her.”
“Well, I suppose we will all have to stand for it,” sighed Edna, “though land knows we never intended to decapitate the little music teacher. And she has a weak spine! Tavia Travers, how could you?”
“You saw how simple it was,” replied Tavia, purposely misunderstanding the other. “But do you suppose we have killed her? I don’t hear a sound!”
“Sounds are always smothered in feathers,” said Cologne. “Dorothy, can’t you get the story ready? How did the accident happen?”
“Too busy,” answered Dorothy. “Besides, I warned you.”
“Now, Doro! And this the last day!”
“Oh, please!” chimed in the others.
“I absolutely refuse to fix it up,” declared Dorothy. “I begged you to relent, and now——”
“Hush! It came to! I hear it coming further to!” exclaimed Cologne. “Doro, hide me!”