“How shocked I am!” explode Hon. Mrs. “Tell me some more.”
“Her nephew Joshua who goes to Yale to study footballing—excuse, please, would you prefer to have this yoke hooked or cut bias?”
“Cut bias, please,” exclam Mrs Smith with tense voice. “What did you say about Mrs Bogle’s Nephew Joshua who go to Yale?”
“He arrive home from Yale smelling distinctually of cigarettes. He cannot last long.”
“Them Bogles contain very common stock,” repose Mrs Jno. “I seldom could admire Mrs Bogle’s character since she came to church in that flowered dimity with panniers of heliotrope velour cut umpire style at the neck with a demi-train of Belgian brocade.”
“I respect your grief,” relapse Hon. Annie B.
“Although she are one of my dearest friends,” explan Mrs Smith, “I am obliged to add stinginess to her other disagreeable virtues. In despite of the fact that her husband owns one complete livery stable, she still continues to behave like the Middle Classes. Her silk dresses are only nearly.”
Jing-jing!! This from front door bell. Too bad I had to answer, because I was fascinated to hear that brutish remark of Hon. Bogles. Howeverly, I was dutiful as usual; so I elope to door-knob. There stood one lady wearing fashionable complexion. She poke forth following print on call-card: