ay to the White Mountains for a summer
flit, and she'd just remembered Marjorie for the first time in three
years.

"Goodness!" says Marjorie, whisperin' husky across the hall. "Someone
ought to go right down to meet her. I can't, of course; and Ferdie's
only begun to dress."

"Ask Torchy," suggests Vee.

And, as I'm all ready except another half hitch to my white tie, I'm
elected. Three minutes more and I'm whizzin' down in the limousine to
receive the Southern delegate. And say, when I pipes the fairy in the
half-masted skirt and the zippy Balkan bonnet, I begins bracin' myself
for what I could see comin'.

One of these pouty-lipped, rich-tinted fairies, Ella May is, wearin' a
baby stare and chorus-girl ear-danglers. Does she wait to be hunted up
and rescued? Not her! The minute I drops out of the machine, she trips
right over and gives me the hail.

"Are you looking for me?" says she. "I hope you are, for I've been
waiting at this wretched station for ages."

"If it's Miss Buell, I am," says I.

"Of course I'm Miss Buell," says she. "Help me in. Now get my bags.
They're inside, Honey."

"Inside what?" I gasps.

"Why, the station," says she. "And give the man a quarter for
me--there's a dear."

Talk about speed! Leave it to the Dixie girls of this special type. I
used to think our Broadway matinee fluffs was about the swiftest
fascinators using the goo-goo tactics. But say, when it comes right
down to quick action, some of these cotton-belt belles can throw in a
high gear that makes our Gwendolyns look like they was only hittin' on
odd cylinders. Ella May was a sample. We was havin' our first glimpse of
each other, but in less 'n forty-five seconds by the watch she'd called
me honey, dearied me twice, and patted me chummy on the arm. And we
hadn't driven two blocks before she had me snuggled up in the corner
like we was old friends.

"Tell me, Honey," says she, "what is dear old Marjorie's hubby like?"

"Ferdie!" says I. "Why, he's all right when you get to know him."

"Oh!" says she. "That kind! But aren't there any other men around?"

"Only Mr. Robert Ellins," says I.

"Really!" says she, her eyes widenin'! "Bob Ellins! That's nice. I met
him once when he came to see Marjorie at boarding school. I was such an
infant then, though. But now----"

She dives into her vanity bag and proceeds to retouch the scenic effects
on her face.

"Don't waste it," says I. "He's sewed up--a Miss Hampton. She's t