"You can't fall out of a Western saddle," Tish protested rather bitterly. "And if I were you, Aggie, I wouldn't worry about crowding my brains."
However, she probably regretted this speech, for she added more gently: "A high altitude will help your hay fever, Aggie."
Aggie said with some bitterness that her hay fever did not need to be helped. That, as far as she could see, it was strong and flourishing. At that matters rested, except for a bit of conversation just before we left. Aggie had put on her sweater vest and her muffler and the jacket of her winter suit and was getting into her fur coat, when Tish said: "Soft as mush, both of you!"
"If you think, Tish Carberry," I began, "that I—"
"Apple dumplings!" said Tish. "Sofa pillows! Jellyfish! Not a muscle to divide between you!"
I drew on my woolen tights angrily.
"Elevators!" Tish went on scornfully. "Street cars and taxicabs! No wonder your bodies are mere masses of protoplasm, or cellulose, or whatever it is."
"Since when," said Aggie, "have you been walking to develop yourself, Tish? I must say—"
Here anger brought on one of her sneezing attacks, and she was unable to finish.
Tish stood before us oracularly. "After next September," she said, "you will both scorn the sloth of civilization. You will move about for the joy of moving about. You will have cast off the shackles of the flesh and be born anew. That is, if a plan of mine goes through. Lizzie, you will lose fifty pounds!"