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Prichard to this here Towels, or Towers, accordin' as we call it. And, as I make it out, she'll keep her there till so be as Mr. Bartlett gets through the repairs. Or she'll send her back to a lodgin'; or not, as may be. Either, or eye-ther." Having thus, as it were, saturated his speech with freedom of alternative, Uncle Mo dismissed the subject, in favour of Gwen's beauty.
"I said I hadn't read the books you mentioned," I replied, trying to hide the chagrin and mortification I felt at being so ignominiously laughed at. "Eyether of them?" chirped Mrs. Smith, with a vicious wink. "Eyether of them?" warbled Phoebe in her mocking-bird soprano. It was my turn to drop the paste-brush now. Eye-ther! It must have slipped from my tongue unconsciously.
Smith forgot to throw out her taunting "eye-ther" as she stood still and regarded my very frank and unconcealed emotion. "I guess we sort of learn from the Ginney girls," explained Phoebe. "Them Ginneys is all nice singers, and everybody in the shop kind of gets into the way of singing good, too, from being with them. You ought to hear them sing Dago songs, oughtn't she, Gwendolyn?"
Smith, with remorseless cruelty "none of Charlotte M. Braeme's, eye-ther?" "No." "Nor none by Effie Adelaide Rowlands, e y e-ther?" still persisted Mrs. Smith. "No; none by her." "E y e ther!"
Smith, decisively and a little contemptuously; "and it ain't two books, eye-ther; it's all in one 'Daphne Vernon; or, A Coronet of Shame." "Well, now I think it is," put in Phoebe. "Them stories with two-handled names is nearly always good. I'll buy a book with a two-handled name every time before I'll buy one that ain't.
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