lives, and didn't exactly know what to do with it," apologized Miss
Lamont.

"Don't you believe it. They've been to more church and Sunday-school
picnics than you ever attended. Look over there!"

It was a group seated about their lunch-baskets. A young gentleman, the
comedian of the patty, the life of the church sociable, had put on the
hat of one of the girls, and was making himself so irresistibly funny in
it that all the girls tittered, and their mothers looked a little
shamefaced and pleased.

"Well," said Mr. King, "that's the only festive sign I've seen. It's more
like a funeral procession than a pleasure excursion. What impresses me is
the extreme gravity of these people--no fun, no hilarity, no letting
themselves loose for a good time, as they say. Probably they like it, but
they seem to have no capacity for enjoying themselves; they have no
vivacity, no gayety--what a contrast to a party in France or Germany off
for a day's pleasure--no devices, no resources."

"Yes, it's all sad, respectable, confoundedly uninteresting. What does
the doctor say?" asked the artist.

"I know what the doctor will say," put in Miss Summer, "but I tell you
that what this crowd needs is missionary dressmakers and tailors. If I
were dressed that way I should feel and act just as they do. Well,
Selina?"

"It's pretty melancholy. The trouble is constant grinding work and bad
food. I've been studying these people. The women are all--"