"Ah, say," I breaks out, "don't tell me I've gone and collected the
wrong one!"

At that there comes a giggle from under the zippy lid.

"Why, it's Gladys!" says Marjorie. "Well, I never!"

"Of course, you dear old goose!" says Gladys, and rushes to a clinch.

"But--but, Gladys!" says Marjorie, holdin' her off for another
inspection. "How you have--er--grown up! Why, your mother never told
me a word!"

"Oh, Mummah!" says she, indicatin' deep scorn. "Besides, she hasn't
seen me for nearly two days, and--well, I suppose she will fuss, as
usual, about the way I'm dressed. But I've had a perfectly glorious
visit, and coming up in the car with dear Torchy was such sport.
Wasn't it, now?" With which she turns to me.

"Was it?" says I, and I notices both Vee and Marjorie gazin' at me
int'rested.

"Of course," says Gladys, prattlin' on, "we quarreled all the way up;
but it was all his fault, and he--oh, phsaw! Here come my dear
parents."

Takin' Gladys as a sample, you'd never guessed it; for Mother is a
quiet, modest appearin' little party, with her wavy brown hair parted
in the middle and brushed back low. She's wearin' her own complexion
too, and, while she's dressed more or less neat and stylish, she don't