Grace Harlowe's Golden Summer

Now, David, you know that I know that you don't know what I know. Therefore, if I know that you don't know what I know you don't know, it's very plain to be seen that either you or I know very little. Now, which of us is a know-nothing? Don't be afraid to confess. Remember, we are your friends. Hippy Wingate beamed benevolently upon his victim, bland expectation written on his plump face.
No real friend of mine would ever take such cowardly advantage of the English language, was David Nesbit's scathing retort. I'll leave it to Grace if I'm not right.
There, Grace. At last you have an opportunity to strike for the right. I believe in striking a valiant blow for the right——
So do I, cut in Reddy Brooks decisively. There is no time like the present. There couldn't be a better place. Away out here in this sequestered spot no one will hear your frenzied yells for help. Reddy rose determinedly from the steps of the old Omnibus House and made a nimble spring toward the loquacious prattler.
Never touched me, was wafted defiantly back, as Hippy Wingate skilfully eluded Reddy's avenging hand and disappeared around the protecting corner of the one-time hostelry. The old Omnibus House had ever been his refuge when put to flight by his long-suffering companions.
You might have known it, shrugged Nora Wingate with an indifference which marked long association with the verbose refugee. In about three minutes you'll hear a frantic voice calling on me for protection. Don't say a word, any of you, but just listen.
A sudden silence, broken only by a soft chuckle from the abused David, descended on the seven young people occupying the worn stone steps.
No-ra! From the rear of the old house a plaintive voice sent up this anguished plea for succor.
What did I tell you? Nora's elaborate air of indifference vanished in a dimpling smile that was reflected on the faces of the group. No one said a word; neither did Nora rise to the noble duty of rescuer.