Belles on their Toes

put in her letters to California.
    "If Fred has to leave the table for whispering," Dan asked, "can I have his hash? I've lost more weight than anyone else this year."
    Fred bared his teeth and growled in mock ferocity. "If you touch it, I'll bite you," he snarled.
    "Goodness," said Cousin Leora.
    "That's enough, boys," Martha warned sternly. "And if anybody gets the hash, I'm going to be the one. I'm the oldest, so I need the nourishment more than anyone else."
    We heard Mother coming up the front steps, then, and ran out to meet her. Bill took her coat and hat, and Tom brought in her plate from the kitchen. Mother said the speech in Philadelphia had gone fine, and that she was so glad, this time, not to miss Leora.
    "I love hash," Mother announced enthusiastically, and partly for Tom's benefit, as she sat down at the table. "And I love to get home after a train ride. Well, what were you talking about when I came in?"
    "Nothing much," Martha put in hastily. "Just chatter,"
    "As a matter of fact, Lillie," Cousin Leora told Mother darkly, "we were discussing whether this one"—she pointed a diamond-studded finger at Fred— "should leave the table."
    "Why, Freddy!" Mother said softly. "What did you do, dear?"
    "I whispered," Fred admitted. "I didn't think anybody was looking."
    "It's not polite to whisper," Mother announced, relieved that the offense hadn't been something more serious. "You know when I was a girl, and we whispered at the table, my father used to make us say it out loud. Sometimes," she laughed, "it was mighty embarrassing, too."
    "That's what Cousin Leora made me do," said Fred.
    It all sounded rather gay to Mother—not serious at all. "And what were you whispering about?" she asked, laughing again.
    "Harumph," Cousin Leora cleared her throat noisily.
    "Well," said Fred, "she wanted to know if you got money."
    "What group were you speaking to in Philadelphia, Lillie, dear?" Cousin Leora interrupted.
    But Mother was listening to Fred. "Who wanted to know if I got money, Freddy?"
    "Harumph, harumph," said Cousin Leora.
    "Cousin Leora wanted to know if Grosie sent you any money, and I whispered that if she wanted to know that, she ought to ask you."
    Nobody said anything for a minute. Our guest looked as if she had swallowed some of her hash the wrong way, and Mother stared at her with something that was part wonder and part contempt.
    "I'm going to answer your question, Leora," Mother said finally. "I haven't been getting money from California. They've offered, of course. But so far I've been able to handle things by myself. And I think the worst of it is over."
    Cousin Leora glared defiantly. We knew she never had liked us, and now we knew she didn't like Mother, either.
    "You haven't been able to handle it," she spit out spitefully, "when your children don't even get enough to eat."
    If she had sat down and rehearsed that speech from the day she had learned to talk, she couldn't have come up with anything that would have made Mother any angrier. But Mother decided she wasn't going to lose her temper in front of her children. She felt around with her foot for the bell under the carpet, pressed it, and asked Tom to bring in the dessert. The left side of her mouth was twitching, or trembling—we couldn't be sure which. It was the first time we had ever seen it act that way.
    Tom came in, heavy laden with a tray of chocolate blanc-mange. Perhaps it was the vibration of his footsteps; perhaps it was chance. At any rate, there was a booming, house-shaking roar in the basement, followed by a metallic ping as something hit the basement ceiling, directly below us.
    Cousin Leora jumped out of her chair in terror, and even Mother dropped her fork.
    "Earthquake," croaked Leora, who had been through the San Francisco one. And then much louder, "Earthquake!"
    There were four more window-rattling roars, each followed by a ping, and then we heard something flowing and dripping, down below us.
    "Listen at that," said Tom. "It ain't no earthquake. It ain t nothing to get excitet about."
    "What in the world is it then?" Mother demanded sharply.
    "It ain't nothing but the children's beer," he assured her.
    "Mercy Maude," sighed Mother. "It gave me a start."
    "The children's what?" shrieked Cousin Leora. "Did he say the children's beer?"
    "Root beer," Mother explained, and the left side of her mouth was vibrating again. "They make it themselves."
    "Root beer," said the visitor, edging toward the hall, "doesn't explode.