“We want to send her home in a blaze of glory,” said Jack thoughtfully. “I want her to feel that the fun ran straight through.” “That’s just what I mean,” interposed his particular friend; “we want her to go home on the wings of a giant cracker, so to speak.” “How would it do,” said Clover suddenly, “to just make a night of it and take her along? Stock up, stack up, and ho! for it. You all know the kind of a time I mean.” “Clover,” said Jack gravely, “does it occur to you that Aunt Mary belongs to me and that I have a personal interest in keeping her alive?” “Nothing ever occurs to him,” said Mitchell. “Occasionally an idea bangs up against him inadvertently, and as it splinters a sliver or two penetrate his head—that’s all.” “I don’t see why the last sliver he felt wasn’t to the point,” said Burnett, turning the cream jug upside down as he spoke. “I think she’d enjoy it of all things. She enjoys everything so. I’ll guarantee that when she gets back home she’ll even enjoy the yachting trip. Lots of people are made like that. In the winter I always enjoy yachting, myself. Pass me the hot bread.” “Burnett,” said Mitchell warmly, “I wish that you would remember that a collapse invariably follows an inflated market.” “Is it Aunt Mary who is on the market, or myself?” “You.” “Oh, the rule is reversed in my case—the collapse went first. I’m only inflating up to the usual limit again. Is there any gravy left?” “No, there isn’t,” said Clover, looking in the dish, “there isn’t much of anything left.” “Let’s go to the library,” said Mitchell, rising abruptly. “It always makes me ill to see goose-stuffing before Thanksgiving. Come on.” “I’m done,” said Burnett, springing up and winding his lacey draperies about his manly form. “Come on yourself; and once settled and smoking, let us canvass the question and agree with Clover.” “You know there are nights about town and nights about town,” said Clover, as they climbed the staircase. “I do not anticipate that Aunt Mary will bring up with a round turn in the police station, as her young relative once did.” “Well, that’s some comfort,” said Mitchell. “I did not feel sure as to just where you did mean her to bring up. You will perhaps allow me to remark that making a night of it with Aunt Mary in tow is a subject that really is provocative of mature reflection. Making a night of it is a frothy sort of a proposition in which our beloved aunty may not beat up to quite the buoyancy of you and me.” As he finished this sage remark they all re-entered the library and grouped themselves around the table of smoking things. “That’s what I say,” said Jack. “I think she’s much more likely to beat out than to beat up—I must say.” “I’ll bet you she doesn’t,” cried Burnett eagerly. “I’ll bet five dollars that she doesn’t.”