he Privileged Classes." It was a prepared speech and had
more than a suggestion of Mrs. VanSittart's firm handling of
committees. "And don't laugh at her mother," Clara concluded. "She's
sure to be pretty awful."

As it happened, Mrs. Binns, who went out as daily help, had no time to
go running round after a lot of queer-sounding birds. She'd given
Pip-Emma's new middy costume a final admonitory twitch. "And mind you
behave like a lady," she'd said, swallowing her tears, "or I'll sock
you."

Mr. Binns, who might have been heavyweight champion of the world if he
hadn't busted his hand early in life on the skull of a certain Black
Bruiser, drove Emma to the station in the cab of his truck. "Keep yer
chin covered, Pip," he said, grinning, "and don't pull your punches."

Pip-Emma, staggering through the unfamiliar immensities of Grand
Central under the weight of her suitcase, felt sickish. She hated
leaving Pop and Ma. She loathed being a Penguin. She'd seen a penguin
once at the zoo, and she'd seen no sense in it. She despised her
costume. It would take weeks to live down the jeers and cheers which
had greeted and pursued it to the end of 45th Street on Eighth. She
hated leaving the Gang. It was her Gang. She ruled it with despotic
efficiency. In fact, when she and Clara VanSittart, introduced by a
worried Prissy Adams, shook hands, two born chairmen unconsciously
locked horns.

Clara said, "How d'you do?"

And Pip-Emma said, "I'm fine."

It was one of those social blunders that Clara had foreseen and that
had better be dealt with at once. Clara said kindly: "I'm so glad
you're fine. But I didn't really want to know, you know."

"Why not?" Pip-Emma asked.

In the perceptible silence a Peewit was heard to titter, and the
outrageous sound startled Clara out of her poise. She said, "Just
because I don't," quite rudely.

And Pip-Emma, remembering Pop and Ma, retorted that it was dumb to ask
questions if you didn't want to know the answers.

It was a short but sharp encounter--Mr. Binns would have described it
as a feint with the left followed by a nice right to the jaw. Clara
VanSittart had a blinking, winded look, and all the Penguins said,
"How d'you do?" as though they couldn't help themselves.

Only little Janet added very timidly, "I hope you'll have a swell
time."

And Pip-Emma said, "Sure," much too much as though she were sure.

But she stayed right by Janet. If you find yourself among a bunch of
stra