Gradually the others subsided and at last Mrs. Mandeville had the floor all to herself, whereupon she shook a long bony index-finger at the president and cried shrilly: "I tell you they're fakes! All fakes! I've had experience with 'em and I _know_! Look at my son-in-law! He answered an ad in a magazine that said 'Be a Civil Engineer,' and he took a course that cost me sixty dollars! And _look_ at him! Why, he ain't even civil, to say nothing of being an engineer!" "I will personally vouch for the reliability of the Inter-State Correspondence School," replied Mrs. Westfall tartly. "And besides, they give an iron-bound guarantee of satisfaction or all money refunded." "I wouldn't trust any of 'em!" cried Mrs. Mandeville excitedly. "They take your money and then all they do is send you a lot of rubbish through the mail and try to sell you text books and equipment or get you to take some other course--!" "Some of the _inferior_ schools might do such things," interrupted Mrs. Westfall icily; "but not the Inter-State! As I said, I will personally vouch for--" "Personally? Did you say?" snapped Mrs. Mandeville. "Personally? How could you vouch for them _personally_ unless you have had dealings with them?" "I said 'personally,' Sister Mandeville," returned the president, "and I meant personally! I _have_ had dealings with them." The Coral Strand Missionary Circle was on tip-toe. It was confidently expected that Mrs. Westfall was about to divulge the details of some of her secret efforts at self-improvement, and it was something of a disappointment when she told merely of Karl's triumphant conquest of the art of swimming without going outside of her own kitchen. As she paused for rhetorical effect the irrepressible Mrs. Mandeville inquired, "But how do you know he can swim?" There was a suspicion of a titter from the rear seats; but Mrs. Westfall froze this levity with a glare as she retorted: "He is, at this very moment, down in swimming with his little playmates!" "But if he's never tried it in the water, how do you know he can--" began Mrs. Mandeville, but before she could finish her question there was a tremendous slam from the front door, and Biscuit appeared in their midst. For a moment he was taken for an apparition of the Evil One; and when he fled bawling into his mother's arms he brought his worthy parent under momentary suspicion of intimacy with striped devils. But when she began to pat his naked back and murmur: "There, ther-r-r-e! Mother's boy is all safe!" and other similar expressions of assurance, the horrified spectators began to grasp the situation, and restored her good character.