"Where you going, Abby?" she demanded, in the privileged tone of
authority a wife should expect from her husband's female relatives.
"Just out in the country a piece, Lois," replied Mrs. Daggett
evasively.
"Well, I guess I'll git in and ride a ways with you," said Lois
Daggett. "Cramp your wheel, Abby," she added sharply. "I don't want
to git my skirt all dust."
Miss Daggett was wearing a black alpaca skirt and a white shirtwaist,
profusely ornamented with what is known as coronation braid. Her
hair, very tightly frizzed, projected from beneath the brim of her
straw hat on both sides.
"I'm going out to see if I can catch that Orr girl this afternoon,"
she explained, as she took a seat beside her sister-in-law. "She
ought to want a copy of Famous People--in the best binding, too. I
ain't sold a leather-bound yit, not even in Grenoble. They come in
red with gold lettering. You'd ought to have one, Abby, now that
Henry's gitting more business by the minute. I should think you might
afford one, if you ain't too stingy."
"Mebbe we could, Lois," said Mrs. Daggett amiably. "I've always
thought I'd like to know more about famous people: what they eat for
breakfast, and how they do their back hair and--"
"Don't be silly, Abby," Miss Daggett bade her sharply. "There ain't
any such nonsense in Famous People! _I_ wouldn't be canvassing for
it, if there was." And she shifted her pointed nose to one side with
a slight, genteel sniff.
"Git-ap, Dolly!" murmured Mrs.
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