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108 of her life, about a book, or a song, or a play, or somebody's manner, "Oh, I caught on to it," or about something of which she was tired, something that wearied her, "Oh, I'll give it the shake," or of somebody who was very quick in manner or perception, "Oh, ain't he fly?" what would you think of her and what does the world conclude about her?

You ask her if she knows something and she responds, "You bet!" You ask her if she enjoyed herself at some place and she answers, "Like a streak!" If she starts to tell you a story she would possibly be surprised to be told that she uses slang. She does not know where she gets it herself. Nobody ever does know. She sees no harm in it. There is no use of profane or unclean words, and yet this slangy mode of speech is the little rift within the lute that, by and by, will make all the music of the fine womanly conversation not mute, but drowned in a hubbub of loud sounds and common words. The girl who continually uses slang as naturally elevates her voice as she breathes; she does this because she wants to give the full effect of her mode of speech, or, as she says, "Give everybody a chance to catch on."

In the great world of to-day it would seem as