I knotted it to my waist-strap.
I jiggled it.
“Jaran, jaring, jaran, jaran!”
3rd—The sayonara dinner was given. Mrs. Ellis’ folks joined us.
Mother Schuyler repeated every ten minutes her query, “when would I visit them again?”
Mr. Oscar set his depressive look on me. I wasn’t brave enough to encounter it.
I slid away from confronting him.
I found him an elegant young man. He impressed me as an image of Apollo.
Only God knows when I will reprint my footsteps on the soil of Los Angeles!
I felt awfully sorry in leaving such an agreeable company.