“Tell us about it,” said Nell, with sparkling eyes and sitting up in her low rocker as straight as Aunt Augusta did in her uncompromising seat.  The rest of them just looked helpless and undecided as to whether to be relieved or not.

“Yes, municipal disgrace threatens the town, and the women must rise in their strength and avert it,” she declaimed majestically with her dark eyes snapping.

“Yesterday afternoon James Hardin, who is the only patriotic male in Glendale, put before the Town Council a most reasonable and pride-bestirring proposition originated by Evelina Shelby, one of Glendale’s leading citizens, though a woman.  She wants to offer the far-famed hospitality of Glendale—­which is the oldest and most aristocratic town in the Harpeth Valley, except perhaps Hillsboro, and which is not in the class with a vulgarly rich, modern place like Bolivar, that has a soap-factory and streetcars, and was a mud-hole in the landscape when the first Shelby built this very house,—­to the Commission of magnates who are to come down about the railroad lines that are to be laid near us.  James agrees with her and urges that it is fitting and dignified that, when they are through with their vulgar trafficking over at insignificant Bolivar, they be asked to partake of real southern hospitality at its fountain head, especially as Evelina is obliged to invite two of them as personal friends.  Do you not see it in that light?” And Aunt Augusta looked at us with the martial mien of a general commanding his army for a campaign.

“It would be nice,” answered Mamie, as she turned little Ned over on his stomach across her knee and began to sway him and trot him at the same time, which was his signal to get off into a nap.  “But Ned said last night that he had lost so much in the bond subscription, that he didn’t feel like spending any more money for an entertainment, that wouldn’t do one bit of good about the taxes or bonds or anything.  The baby was beginning to fret, so I don’t think I understood it exactly.”

“I don’t think you did,” answered Aunt Augusta, witheringly, “That is not the point at all, and—­”

“But Mr. Greenfield said last night, while he was discussing it with Father, that it would do no good whatever and probably be an embarrassment to the Commission, our putting in a pitiful bid like that.  He—­” but Caroline got no further with the feminine echo of her masculine opinion-former.

“Peter Shelby put that objection much more picturesquely than Lee Greenfield,” Aunt Augusta snapped.  “He said that licking those men’s hands would turn his stomach, after swallowing that bond issue.  However, all this has nothing to do with the case.  I am trying to—­”

“Polk said last night that he thought it would be much more spectacular for all the good looking women in town to go when we are invited to Mrs. Henderson’s tea for the big bugs, and dazzle ’em so that it would at least put Glendale on the map,” said Nell, with spirit.  “He made me so mad that I—­”