“It ain't goin' to rain before noon,” Myrtella said authoritatively, in a tone that indicated her intention of stopping it immediately if it showed any intention of doing so. “It'll do you good to git out and walk a spell.”
Miss Lady shook her head.
“Well, then you better let me send Bertie down here, he's makin' a awful racket in the nursery an' his pa'll be after him soon.”
Bertie was induced to abandon a life of adventure on the footboard of his bed, by the suggestion that Miss Lady had something to tell him in the dining-room. He came tearing through the hall shouting, “Extras,” at the top of his voice.
“Bertie, darling! Please don't,” cried Miss Lady roused from her apathy. “Remember it's Saturday and Father's home.”
“I wish he wasn't,” said Bertie. “I hate a tiptoe house! When can I call extras?”
“When we get up to Thornwood. You and I will play all over the hills, and I'll teach you to be a real country boy.”
“And can Chick be there, too?”
“Yes, and perhaps by that time Chick will have been to the hospital and can talk like other boys.”
Bertie was standing on the back of her chair by this time, apparently trying to strangle her.