Felt badly
There is another vein of language which the girl with artistic tendencies sometimes works, and which equally misses, in some cases, the desired effect.
“What is your sister like?” asked a boy of another boy recently.
“Oh, she’s one of those girls who jabber about sunsets,” was the answer. “Want to speak to her?”
“Not me!”
The despiser of sunset
Wit is not a shining quality of this type of girl, but once in a while she contrives to be quits with the other person.
“In my days,” said a severe old person some little time ago, “a girl could only be one of three things: a teacher, a shop-girl, or a servant-maid. To-day you can be doctor, gardener, whatnot. You have only to make your choice. My opinion being that you have not the slightest talent for art, Gladys, let me know what you would like to be.”