Joe saw Fred Baker in Chicago last week. He was sitting at a table in the Auditorium, drinking beer!
Beer! Was he alone?
Joe just won't tell me!
I wonder if any one from here is going up to the Klondike. They say it's rich with gold . . .
My new cook makes the best Boston brown bread . . .
I'd like to get the recipe.
These remarks and more of the same order fell like a dead burdening on the ear of the Countess. The lively, insistent imp, who really held her attention, sang one name to her constantly: Gareth! Gareth! Gareth! At every reiteration she vibrated with pleasure, and, when some one asked her a question, she was obliged to hesitate for a moment to clear her mind of the name, temporarily, before she replied.
It was half after six before the ladies folded up their work, put on their hats, and began to make their farewell speeches. It was nearly seven before Lou and Ella entered the doorway of their home.
I wonder if any one has called, Lou speculated, glancing at the silver card-tray which always stood on a table near the vestibule door. There were two new cards on the tray. She held the first to her near-sighted eyes, reading aloud, Mrs. Ray
