They'd have to do
some scrubbing now. Science can not be halted by hatpins; cosmos can not
be side-tracked by cosmetics.
Toward sunset we came upon a small, crystal clear pond, set between the
bases of several lofty mountains. I was ready to drop with fatigue, but
I nerved myself, drew a deep, exultant breath, and with one of those
fine, sweeping gestures, I cried:
"Lake Mrs. Gladys Doolittle Batt! Eureka! At last! Excelsior!"
There was a profound silence behind me. I turned, striving to mask my
apprehension with a smile. The ladies were regarding the pond in
surprise. I admit that it was a pond, not a lake.
Injecting into my voice the last remnants of glee which I could summon, I
shouted, "Eureka!" and began to caper about as though the size and beauty
of the pond had affected me with irrepressible enthusiasm, hoping by my
emotion to stampede the convention.
The cold voice of Mrs. Doolittle Batt checked my transports:
"Is that puddle named after me?" she demanded.
"M-ma'am?" I stammered.
"If that wretched frog-pond has been christened with my name, somebody is
going to get into trouble," she said ominously.
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