“For that you shall be gagged—if you do it again,” threatened Cologne.
Molly Richards, or Dick as we know her, fell off the upturned jardiniere upon which she had been vainly trying to balance herself.
“This is awful,” said the chairman, “and I may have to postpone——”
“Never!” came a shout. “We came for a full meeting of the board, and we demand it.”
“Then let the Tarters elsewhere speak first. They are our—visitors,” decided Cologne.
Cecilia Reynolds was not as merry as the others, but she had come to do her part, and was determined not to flinch.
“Well,” she began, “we feel we made a mistake in having a club opposed to the Glens.”
“Splendid feeling,” put in Tavia again. “Hurray!”
“And we did—some things—that now we see were not as funny—as we thought they might be,” went on Cecilia, with an effort. “We voted, at a meeting, to have Dorothy’s story of the lunch wagon published. We did not think it would amount to so much, and we decided that the smallest member—the one least to be suspected, should take the picture off Tavia’s bureau. Zada was the smallest.”
Tavia could not stand this. She jumped up, and although she was only joking now, since all things had turned out so well, she did throw a scrap basket at Cecilia. It hit another member of the Tarters, Nell Dean, and when the latter tossed it back it landed nicely over Tavia’s head, and extinguished her, for which all were thankful.