"I don't go to show 'em, goosie; I go to wear 'em. But you have no sense of humor. What's the good of telling you anything? Molly, there, understands my feelings, I am sure."
Molly was not listening. She was making calculations at her desk with a blunt pencil on a scrap of paper.
"I've got as good a sense as you have," cried Nance hotly, "only I don't approve of being humorous about sacred things."
"Nonsense," broke in Judy, "don't you know, child, that you can't limit humor? It spreads over every subject and it's not necessarily profane because it touches on clothes at church. I suppose you think there is nothing funny about the Reverend Gustavus Adolphus Larsen, and you have forgotten how you giggled that Sunday when he announced from the pulpit that his text was taken from St. Paul's 'Efistle to the Epeesians.'"
"He's always getting mixed," here put in Molly, who at certain stages in the warm discussions between Nance and Judy always sounded a pacifying note. "They do say that he was talking to Miss Walker about one of the faculty pews, and he said: 'Do you occupew this pi?'"
This was too much for Nance's severity, and she broke down and laughed gaily with the others.
"He's a funny little man," she admitted, "but he's well meaning."
"Hurry up," admonished Judy; "it's twenty minutes of four and I want to get a good seat this afternoon."
"You want to show off your new fashionable headgear, you mean, Miss Vanity," said Nance, pinning on her neat brown velvet toque and squinting at herself in the mirror.
"Oh, me," thought Molly, "I wish I had a decent garment to show off."