d in many a striking Posture. With the Chin tilted to show the
full crop of Cervical Vertebrae and her Search Lights aimed yearningly
at the top of the Singer Building, she had herself kidded into
believing that she was a certified Replica of Elsie Ferguson.

As a member of the Board of Visitation she hurried out to the Colored
Orphan Asylum to check up the Picks and watch them making Card-Board
Mottoes.

After that she had nothing to do except fly home and complete a Paper
on the Social Unrest in Spain, after which she backed into the
Spangles, because Father was bringing an old Stable Companion to
dinner.

In the evening she took Mother to a Travel Lecture. The colored Slides
were mingled with St. Vitus Glimpses of swarming Streets and galloping
Gee-Gees. They came home google-eyed and had to feel their way into
the Domicile.

Tuesday A.M. dawned overcast with shifting winds from the N.E.

Loretta pried herself away from the third Waffle in order to hike to
the corner and jack up Mr. Grocer about the Kindling Wood that he had
sent them for Celery.

She had the Druggist 'phone the Florist, and then rewarded him by
purchasing three Stamps.

At 9.30 the Committee to arrange for the Summer Camp of the In-Wrong
Married Women whirled through the untidy Suburbs in a next year's
Motor Car, and Loretta was nowhere except right up on the front Seat
picking out the Road.

Once a year the Ladies of the Lumty-Tum went out with their
embroidered Sand-Bags and swung on their Gentlemen Friends for enough
Dough to pay the Vacation Expenses of Neglected Wives and Kiddies.

In every community there is an undiscovered Triton thoroughly posted
on the Renaissance of the Reactionaries and the recrudescence of the
Big Six Baby with the up-twist that has Whiskers on it. This Boy is so
busy regulating both Parties and both Leagues that when it comes time
for his Brood to take an Outing, some ignorant Outsider has to step in
and unbelt.

After letting contracts for Milk and Vegetables, Loretta and the other
specimens of our Best People zipped over to the Country Club, breaking
into silvery Laughter every time the Speedometer made a Face at the
Sign-Board which said that the Speed Limit was 12 Miles an Hour.

They showed a few milk-fed Springers how to take a Joke, and then
played an 18-hole Foursome which was more or less of a Grewsome.

Then a little Tea on the Terrace with Herbert lolling by in his
Flannels, just as you read a