Page 86 - 1926 Hartridge
P. 86
Page 82
^ mim CTlORcr
Just as you bid a hasty farewell to the Mushroom, someone on the Main House porch shouts, “Last bell!” that most fatal of phrases. You sprint across the lawn scattering coat and hat to the winds, and feel sure
that you could win any hundred yard dash. But the galoshes are too small. They have to be taken off, and only after a frenzied struggle you overcome their obstinacy and dash through the door. You reach the dining room just in time to he asked to please wait outside until grace has been said. Late! and you hang your head in shame.
M. H. c., ’2 6 .
