Belles on their Toes

summer," sobbed Ernestine. "And finally... and finally..."
    "I'm sorry," Anne choked, putting her arm around Ernestine's waist. "After all, as you say, that Morton isn't any rose. He's sure a beanpole, isn't he? And Al is cute, all right, I've got to admit that."
    "Do you really think so?" asked Ernestine, blowing her nose.
    "Gosh, yes!" Anne fibbed.
    "Where does he live, dear?" Mother asked.
    "In upper New York State. Why does everything have to happen to me. Mother?" she sniffed. "Just as vacation is over, it has to happen to me. Now I won't see him again until the Christmas holidays."
    "Christmas holidays?" Mother asked.
    "I'm going to meet him in New York," Ernestine said. "He's coming down especially."
    "Maybe he could come to visit us during the holidays," Mother suggested.
    "Could he?" Ern snouted ecstatically, hugging Mother. "Do you think he could?"
    "I don't see why not," Mother said. "After all, if you're going to marry him, I'd like to meet him first."
    "Oh, I guess we'll never get married," Ern said gaily. "Just engaged. Al says he's not the marrying kind. Al says why buy a cow, when milk's so cheap."
    "Why, where does he think..." Anne began.
    "It would be fine if he could come," Mother interrupted. "Much better than your meeting him in New York. He sounds, well, very interesting, dear."
    "Gee, he sure is," Ernestine agreed. "Will you loan me your pen? I'm going to write him right now and invite him."
    Ernestine went into the lounge, and Anne and Mother exchanged knowing glances.
    "Do you know what I think?" Anne teased her. "I think you're a scheming woman. I can see right through you."
    "I don't know what you're talking about," Mother grinned sheepishly.

8
SHOPPING TOUR

    Every autumn Mother took the boys into New York on a shopping trip, to get them clothes for the coming year. This year, to save time she decided to get the shopping out of the way as we passed through the city, en route from Nantucket to Montclair.
    The trip to New York was accomplished relatively painlessly. Anne took the girls, including a moon-eyed Ernestine, who almost had to be led by the hand, on to Montclair. Then Mother and the boys headed for a department store that was featuring a back-to-school sale.
    Mother believed that self-expression was essential to a child's development, and always gave us a free hand in picking our clothes. She might advise, but she never vetoed.
    Before leaving Nantucket, Ernestine, as chairman of the purchasing committee, had inventoried the condition of the boys' clothes, and had given Mother a list of requirements.
    It was decided that each boy would get one new suit, and also would be handed down a suit from the brother immediately above him in the age scale. Frank, being the oldest and not in line for a hand-down, would get two new suits. New shirts, ties, socks, underwear and shoes—which seldom lasted long enough to be handed down—also were needed by all the boys.
    Frank was in Montclair with Tom, so he wasn't included on the shopping trip. Mother thought that, being thirteen, he was old enough to get his own clothes, anyway.
    In the subway on the way uptown from Barclay Street, the boys agreed that any suit bought would have to please not only its immediate possessor, but the next youngest brother who would be its ultimate owner.
    It was still early when they arrived at the store, and the boys' department was nearly deserted. A middle-aged salesman, pleased at the prospect of starting the day with such a large group of potential customers, hurried up to Mother. He was precise, plump, and wore a hearing aid, which fitted over his head earphones-fashion.
    "Hello there, fellows," he said heartily, in a tone designed to show that he was nothing but a great big boy himself. "Well, school's about to start, eh? I know you're all looking forward to it." He laughed and rumpled Bob's head, and Bob hid behind Mother.
    "What will it be this morning?" the salesman asked Mother hopefully, "suits for all the boys?"
    "Yes, please," said Mother, while the salesman, obviously figuring that this was his lucky day, beamed happily.
    Mother reached into her brief-case-sized pocketbook, pulled out two blueprints, the first draft of a speech she was writing, a copy of the magazine Iron Age, a shawl she was crocheting for her mother, some socks she had darned on the boat, and finally her black note book. There is never anything very efficient about Mother's pocketbook.
    "Let's see," she said, reading from