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Page 3
"Slang! Never!" cried the plump girl, tossing her head "Far be it from
me and et cetera. I never use slang. I am quite as much of a purist as
that professor at Ardmore--what was his name?--that they tell the story
about. The dear dean told him that some of the undergrads complained
that his language was 'too pedantic and unintelligible.'"
"'Never, Madam! Impossible! Why,' said the prof, 'to employ a vulgarism,
perspicuity is my penultimate appellative.'"
"Ow! Ow!" groaned Helen at the wheel "I bet that hurt your vocal cords,
Heavy."
She let in the clutch again as the party broke into laughter, and they
darted across the tracks behind the passing train.
"Just the same," added Helen, "I wish some of the boys we used to play
around with were with us. Those fellows Tom went to Seven Oaks with were
all nice boys. Dear me!"
"Most of them went into the war," Ruth reminded her. "Nothing is as it
used to be. Oh, dear!"
"I must say you are all very cheerful--not!" exclaimed Jennie. "Ruth is
a regular Grandmother Grimalkin, and the rest of you are little better.
I for one just won't think of my dear Henri as being food for cannon. I
just won't! Why! before he and Tom can get into the nasty business again
the war may be over. Just see the reports in the papers of what our boys
are doing. They really have the Heinies on the run."
"Ye-as," murmured Mercy. "Running which way?"
"Treason!" cried Jennie. "The only way the Germans have ever run forward
is by crawling."
"Oh! Oh! Listen to the Irish bull!" cried Helen.
"Oh, is it?" exclaimed Jennie. "Maybe there is a bit of Irish in the
McStones, or O'Stones. I don't know."
She certainly was the life of the party. Helen and Ruth had too recently
bidden Tom Cameron good-bye to feel like joining with Jennie in
repartee. Though it might have been that even the fat girl's repartee
was more a matter of repertoire. She was expected to be funny, and so
forced herself to make good her reputation.
This trip by automobile in fact was a forced attempt to cheer each other
up on the part of the chums. At the Outlook, the Cameron's handsome
country home, matters had become quite too awful to contemplate with
calm, now that Tom had gone back to France. At least, so Helen stated.
At the Red Mill Ruth had been (she admitted it) ready to "fly to
pieces." For naturally poor Aunt Alvirah and Jabez Potter, the miller,
were pot cheerful companions. And the two chums had Jennie Stone as
their guest, for she had returned from New York with them, where they
had all gone to bid Tom and Henri Marchand farewell.
The three college friends had picked Mercy Curtis up (she had been with
them at boarding-school "years and years before," to quote Jennie) and
started on this trip from Cheslow to Longhaven. On the outskirts of
Longhaven a Wild West Show was advertised as having pitched its tents.
"And, of course, if there is anything about the Wild West close at hand
our movie writer must see it," said Jennie. "Give you local color, Ruth,
for another western screen masterpiece."
"I suppose it is one of these little fly-by-night shows!" scoffed Mercy.
"Let's see that bill. Dakota Joe's Wild West and Frontier Round-Up' Mm!
Sounds big. But the bigger they sound the smaller they are, as a rule."
"I am glad I am not a pessimist," sighed Jennie Stone. "It must be an
awfully uncomfortable feeling inside one to wear such a cloak."
"Ow! Ow!" cried Helen again. "Another Hibernianism, without a doubt."
She turned the car into a much-traveled road just then. Not a mile ahead
loomed the "big top." A band was playing, and what it lacked in
sweetness it certainly made up in noise.
"Look at the cars!" exclaimed Ruth, becoming interested. "We shall have
to park before long, Helen, and walk to the show lot."
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