Poundstone. "Perfectly dee-licious. And
not a bit strong!"
"Have another," her hospitable host suggested, and he poured it,
quite oblivious of the frightened wink which the mayor telegraphed
his wife.
"I will, if Miss Sumner will join me," Mrs. P. acquiesced.
"Thanks. I seldom drink a cocktail, and one is always my limit,"
Shirley replied smilingly.
"Oh, well," the Colonel retorted agreeably, "we'll make it a three-
cornered festival. Poundstone, smoke up."
They "smoked up," and Poundstone prayed to his rather nebulous gods
that Mrs. P. would not discuss automobiles during the dinner.
Alas! The Colonel's cocktails were not unduly fortified, but for all
that, the two which Mrs. Poundstone had assimilated contained just
sufficient "kick" to loosen the lady's tongue without thickening it.
Consequently, about the time the piece de resistance made its
appearance, she threw caution to the winds and adverted to the
subject closest to her heart.
"I was telling Henry as we came up the walk how greatly I envied you
that beautiful sedan, Miss Sumner," she gushed. "Isn't it a perfectly
stunning car?"
Poundstone made one futile attempt to head her off. "And I was
telling Mrs. Poundstone," he struck in with a pathetic attempt to
appear humorous and condescending, "that a little jitney was our
gait, and that she might as well abandon her passionate yearning for
a closed car.
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