"Not me!" cried Helen Cameron. "I do not wish to be in the picture again, but I want to see it made."
After they arrived at the special car, where a piping hot supper was ready for them, the girls forgot the shock of their adventure. Jennie, however, groaned whenever she moved.
"'Tis too bad that fat girl got so bunged up," observed one of the punchers to Helen Cameron. "I see she's a-sufferin'."
"Miss Stone's avoirdupois is forever making her trouble," laughed Helen, rather wickedly.
"Huh?" demanded the man. "Alfy Dupoy? Who's that? Her feller?"
"Oh, dear me, no!" gasped Helen. "His name is Henri Marchand. I shall have to tell her that."
"Needn't mind," returned the man. "I can't be blamed for misunderstanding half what you Easterners say. You got me locoed right from the start."
The joke had to be told when the three friends retired that night, and it was perhaps fortunate that Jennie Stone possessed an equable disposition.
"I am the butt of everybody's joke," she said, complacently. "That is what makes me so popular. You see, you skinny girls are scarcely noticed. It is me the men-folk give their attention to."
"Isn't it nice to be so perfectly satisfied with one's self?" observed Helen, scornfully. "Come on, Ruthie! Let's sleep on that."