"I didn't know you were so literary, Patty."
"Oh, I'm not. It's Little Billee's gigantic intellect that planned this
room, and he's the power that keeps it going. Every week he sends up a
cartload of new books--"
"Oh, come, now, Patty,--I haven't bought a book for a fortnight!" laughed
Farnsworth. "But I've just heard of a fine old edition of Ike Walton that
I can get at--"
"There, there, my son, don't get started on your hobby," implored
Channing. "We're ignoramuses, Mona and I, and we want to talk about
less highbrow subjects."
"Count me on your side," said a smiling girl, whose big gray eyes took
on a look of awe at the turn the conversation had taken. "I don't know
if Ike Walton is a book or a steamboat!"
The speaker was Beatrice Gale, a neighbour of the Farnsworths. She was
pretty and saucy looking,--a graceful sprite, with a dimpled chin, and
soft brown hair, worn in moppy bunches over her ears. She was called
Betty by her friends, and Patty and Bill had already acquired that
privilege.
"Now, Betty," and Patty shook her head at her, "you are a college
graduate as well as a debutante,--you _must_ know old Ike!"
"But I don't! You see, my debut meant so much more to me than my
commencement, that all I ever learned at college flew out of my head
to make room for all I'm going to learn in society."
"Have you much left to learn?" asked Elise, looking at the piquant face
that seemed to show its owner decidedly conversant with the ways of the
world,--at least, her own part in it.
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