“If it rains, we’ll take some rain pictures.”
“You’re right,” said Owen. “I think everybody takes too many sunshine pictures. It makes all photographs look alike. The painters aren’t always painting sunshine.”
“But I like sunshine,” said McConnell, ducking his head as the boom came around.
“Oh, I don’t know,” mused Allan. “I’ve had lots of fun in the rain. The best fishing I ever had was in the rain one day.”
“Oh, yes—fishing,” McConnell admitted; “fishing is different. The fish like it.”
“And don’t you remember that ball game we finished in the rain? Wasn’t it great? And the whole of that Indian Cave trip was made in the rain.”
“If you like rain, you’re welcome,” grunted McConnell. “Sunshine is good enough for me.”
“So it is for me. I’m sort of getting a waterproof on my spirits in case it does rain. Will you please notice how the Arabella is scooting along just now? What are you doing, Owen?”
“Getting out the feeding things.”
“Already?”