"Why, you see, Aunt Mary," the latter promptly shrieked, "we thought we'd
be good and go home early and sort of rest up to-night so as to have a
high old time to-morrow."
Aunt Mary's face, which had fallen during the first part of their speech,
brightened up at the last words.
"What are we goin' to do?" she inquired with unfeigned interest.
"Burnett's going to give us a dinner," Jack answered, "and then afterwards
we're going to help you see the town."
"Oh!" said Aunt Mary. A pleasant gleam fled over her face.
"I never was a great believer in bein' out nights," she said, "but I guess
I'll make an exception to-morrow. I might as well be doin' that as
anythin', I presume. Maybe better--very likely better."
"Oh, very much better," said Mitchell. "It is the exceptions that furnish
all the oil in life's machinery. The exceptions not only generally prove
too much for the rule, but they also generally prevent the rule from
proving too much for us. They--"
"But I don't see why we couldn't go to two or three vaudevilles to-night,
too," said the old lady, suddenly. "I feel so sort of ready-for-anythin'."
"You always feel that way, Miss Watkins," screamed Mitchell. "It is we
that are the blind and the halt. You are ever fresh, but we falter and
faint. You see it's you that go out, but it's we that you get back. You--"
"We could go to one vaudeville, anyway," said Aunt Mary abstractedly; "an'
if we saw any places that looked lively we could stop a few minutes there
on our way back.
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