Abstract
MANDY HIGGINS and I had dropped into Mary Dingman's for an after supper call. It wasn't a starched parlor call, the kind we women make once in a dog's age when someone new moves into Benson Hollow, or when we get a little fad streak of being up-to-date and parading our manners by wearing gloves, carrying card cases pretentious and societylike, sitting straight and stiff on company chairs, and staying for only fifteen minutes. We never make more than one or two of these kind of calls before all the
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