and Gypsy, sensing excitement in the air, stands with pricked-up
ears and bright, inquisitive eyes. Luckily there has been no
intruder--just the three of them, Gypsy and Missy and Tess.

"You're wonderful--simply wonderful! It's simply too swagger for
words!" It was Tess speaking.

Missy gazed down at herself. It WAS swagger, she assured herself. It
must be swagger--Tess said so. Almost as swagger, Tess asseverated,
as the riding outfit worn by Miss Valerie Jones who was the
swaggerest member of Macon City's swaggerest young set. Yet, despite
her assurance of swaggerness, she was conscious of a certain
uneasiness. She knew she shouldn't feel embarrassed; she should feel
only swagger. But she couldn't help a sense of awkwardness, almost
of distaste; her legs felt--and LOOKED--so queer! So conspicuous!
The upper halves of them were clothed in two separate envelopments
of pepper-and-salt material, gathered very full and puffy over the
hips but drawn in tightly toward the knee in a particularly swagger
fashion. Below the knee the swagger tight effect was sustained by a
pair of long buttoned "leggings."

"You're sure these leggings look all right?" she demanded anxiously.

"Of course they look all right! They look fine!"

"I wish we had some boots," with a smothered sigh.

"Well, they don't ALWAYS wear boots. Lots of 'em in Macon City only
wore puttees. And puttees are only a kind of leggings."