Amy Blackford in dismay.

"Well, I guess they've got another think coming," said Allen, inelegantly,
placing himself with outstretched arms before the two precious hampers as
though he were guarding a gold mine. "Now let him come who dares. Only
over my dead body--"

"Oh, what's the use of spoiling our perfectly good party," complained
Grace. "Can't we ever begin to enjoy ourselves but what somebody starts
taking all the joy out of life by talking about killing somebody, or
something--"

"Never mind, Gracie," Frank soothed her, nibbling a chicken bone with
great relish. "You'll get over it. It may take time--"

"Silence," commanded Mollie, raising a pickle fork threateningly. "Else in
a twinkling I will split thee to the heart--"

"Goodness, she's got it, too," sighed Grace drawlingly.

"What?" asked Mollie briskly, "I'm always interested in my symptoms--"

"It isn't a disease, you goose," drawled Grace. "Unless," she added, as a
second thought, "you can call insanity a disease--"

"Well, you ought to know," retorted Mollie, as she proceeded to use the
pickle fork to advantage. "What does your doctor say?"

"Now who's bringing war into the party, I'd like to know?" asked Will,
helping himself to his ninth biscuit.