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“I think the linin’ of Miss Gordon’s cloud needs polishin’ these days,” ventured Betty, shyly. Betty was still faintly laughing at Moses’ spirited retort to his mother’s observations on his singing. “Ten? You won’t think of playing with us, then. Ma thought you’d be just our age.”.

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“You bet!” Pretty endorsed, inelegantly. Howard Eliot guided his charges through the mazes of the city to a restaurant. Moses with the perennial appetite of fourteen ate silently and steadily, not omitting one item on the menu. He gorged. Moses reappeared with a tray. The tea had been spilled as foretold by his Mother, but sufficient was left for the party. Betty drank from a dainty cup, her little finger straight and rigid as was fitting for the delicate hand-painted china. “Did you see the fine bin of carrots, Mar?” inquired Betty..