“In pawn! what do you mean?” queried Edna, doubtfully, and putting up both hands to the really disgraceful-looking hat—for it had been dried out before the sitting room stove at the railroad station agent’s, too.
“Anyway, it looks like it had been in soak, Neddie, dear,” giggled Tavia. “And to use a slang phrase——”
“I should say that was slang,” returned Edna, in disgust. “The very commonest kind—‘in soak,’ indeed!”
“And that bird on your hat,” pursued Tavia, wickedly. “That is sure enough one of those extinct fowl you read about.”
“Lots you know about extinct birds,” sniffed Edna.
“There’s the dodo,” suggested one of the other girls.
“Oh, I know what an extinct bird is,” declared Cologne. “It’s Billy, our poor old canary—poor thing! The cat got him this morning before I left home, so he’s extinct now!”
Ned Ebony couldn’t take her coat off because she wore Dorothy’s morning gown instead of a street dress. And she had on Tavia’s slippers instead of real shoes; and there hadn’t been a guimpe in any girl’s bag that would fit her, so she was afraid of removing the coat as she might catch cold. She had been used to wearing a fur-piece around her neck and that much bedraggled article was in the big bundle of her half-dried belongings, thrust into the baggage rack overhead.
“I know that fur is just ruined,” she moaned. “And it’s brand new, too.”
“Never mind,” giggled Tavia. “I bet it’s only cat’s fur, and there’s slathers of cats at the Glen. We can trap some and make you a new scarf just as good.”