"That'll do, young man!" says she. "Don't try to be smart with me! And don't think I'm asking fool questions just out of curiosity! I'm related to Twombley-Crane."
"Cousin by marriage," says she.
"I—I take it all back then," says I. "Excuse my gettin' so gay. Come on a visit, have you?"
"Ye-e-es," says she hesitatin'; "that is, I s'pose we have. We ain't made up our minds exactly."
"We?" says I, gazin' around.
"Mr. Leavitt is behind the tent there, as usual," says she, "and he—— My land! I guess it's jest as well he is," she gasps, as a limousine rolls up to the front of the canopy, a liveried footman hops off the driver's seat, whisks open the door, and helps unload Mrs. K. Taylor French.
Quite some wishbone in front and more or less spinal column aft Mrs. K. Taylor is exposin' as she brushes past us up the strip of red carpet. So you could hardly blame the old girl for bein' jarred.
"Young man," says she, turnin' on me severe, "what's going on here to-night?"
"Dinner dance, that's all," says I.