"Unless you think I'm too old and stupid to learn," she added, fishingly.
Prue put a catfish on her hook: "Oh, Mrs. Hippisley, I've seen women much older and fatter and stupider than you dancing in Chicago."
While the hours of tuition were being discussed Bertha Appleby tiptoed up to eavesdrop, and pleaded to be accepted as a pupil. And she forced on the timorous Prue a quarter as her matriculation fee.
Orton Hippisley beau'd Prue home that night, and they paused in an arcade of maples to practise a new step she had been composing in the back of her head.
He was an apt pupil, and when they had resumed their homeward stroll she neglected to make him take his arm away. Encouraged, he tried to kiss her when they reached the gate. She cuffed him again, but this time her buffet was almost a caress. She sighed:
"I can't get very mad at you, you're such a quick student. I hope your mother will learn as fast."
"My mother!" he exclaimed.
"Yes. She wants me to teach her the one-step."
"Don't you dare!"
"And why not?" she asked, with sultry calm.