"I told you so," said Casey. "No sympathy, Miss Burnaby."
"I don't want it. I'm enjoying myself. I'd like to play in the water, to sail sticks down the ditch, and pretend that they were boats."
"Shocking!" he laughed. "But I'd like to play with you."
"Nice pair of kids you are," Wade commented. He was perspiring from unaccustomed exertion. "'Pon my soul, though, I feel the same. To think of me messing away my life in a tenth-story office worrying about other people's business and quarrels! What do you keep in this air, Casey? Old Ponce de Leon's Fountain of Youth?"
"I keep some very fair Scotch in a cupboard at the house," Casey responded. "The water is all right now. Suppose we adjourn."
"I'll go you once," said Wade.
"Where do I come in?" Clyde asked. "I'm thirsty, too."
"Feng shall produce Chakchak fizzes for both of us."
They trooped into the house, thirsty, hungry, and laughing, and Kitty Wade exclaimed at Clyde's dress.
"Thank Heaven I didn't go!" she cried. "Mr. Dunne, you should get a commission from her dressmaker."