“A euchre-party! Everybody!”
Mrs. Hummel’s arms dropped limp.
“But, of course,” she said, “nobody will go.”
“They’re all wild about it!” ejaculated Mrs. Wheelock; “Mrs. Stoker is said to have struck the psychological moment.”
Mrs. Hummel started up.
“There hasn’t been a card-party for years!” cried she; “where’ll she get her decks? Does she carry around a trunk full? Or will she clean out the saloons? But——” and the tears leaped up to her lashes, “I wouldn’t be un-Christian about it.”
Mrs. Wheelock arose and laid her hands on Mrs. Hummel’s arm.
“Of course, dear, you know the only reason you wouldn’t be invited is that you’re the preacher’s wife,” soothed she; and then, with a puzzled air: “That must be the reason.”
Now the maid brought in an envelope. It was Mr. and Mrs. Hummel’s invitation to Mrs. Stoker’s euchre-party. The eye of Jennie met that of Mrs. Wheelock, as a partial relief made its way into the breast of the preacher’s wife.
“Did you ever hear of such impudence?” she breathed.