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She looked at Warble appraisingly. "You're a tuppenny, ha'penny chit, with eyes like two holes burnt in a blanket, and a nose Mr. Micawber might have waited for, but you'll do. You get everything you want, without effort, and that's a rare trait. What do you think of me?" Warble made a face at her. "Corking!" screamed Aunt Dressie, "you come straight from heaven and you've slid into my soul.
"What's Aunt Dressie anyhow? A military blonde, with glazed chintz undies! What's Marigold Leathersham? A smart party who wears a hat! "What's Iva Payne? Nothing but a backbone a shad! She's about the shape of a single rose vase! Damn her! Damn Lotta Munn and Daisy Snow, yes and May Young!
"What use is it?" Aunt Dressie stared at her. "What use are you?" she said. Warble's brain stopped beating. Bump. What use was she she, the utilitarian, the efficient, the practical! What use? Grrrhhh! She'd show 'em! The silly bunch! Not one of them could put together the dissected beef picture in the cook-book if the cuts were separated! "I don't care! I won't endure it!
They're dyed in the wool hypocrites joined to their idols let 'em alone. And as to that husband of yours " "Stop! Stop! I can't stand any more! Pleathe go pleathe " "What're you going to do about that Tertium Quid you've annexed?" Aunt Dressie inquired, casually. "I don't know," Warble uncertained. "He has wonderful ambitions and aspirations. He wants to be a ragpicker a real one."
"Forgot to mention it," said Petticoat, strolling in, "but a few people are coming to-night to help me plan for my new Color Organ." "What's that?" asked Warble, gazing at Petticoat in azure-eyed adoration. "Oh, Lord, don't you know anything? Tell her, Aunt Dressie!" and turning on his French heel, Petticoat walked delicately out of the room.
Lotta Munn spinster in name only with her foolish pleasures and palaces Daisy Snow, little innocent-making saucer eyes at my husband oh, Bill, dear, I love you so I wish I was pale and peaked and wise and yes, and artistic! So there now! "Well, there's only two alternatives. I must reform this toy town, or be dragged down to their terrible depths myself! "Aunt Dressie says, love and grow thin.
"Ambitions are queer things," Aunt Dressie thoughtfuled. "Now, you mightn't think it, but I want to be a steeple climber." "You take Porgie off my hands, and he'll help you " "Oh, no, child, every lassie has her laddie and you saw him first." Warble sighed. Thus was she always thrown at Porgie's head. Fate, like a sluicing torrent carried her ever on. Beware, beware, the rapids are below you!
Ptomaines, his collection of pieplates, Warble, his personal appearance and his Aunt Dressie. The last was one of the old Cotton-Petticoats, and in her younger days had been a flibbertigibbet. Was still, for that matter, but she flibbered differently now. She appeared unannounced, took up her favorite quarters in the N.N.W. wing, and permeated the household. Tall. Slender. Smart. Sport suits.
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