“Oh, let’s!” cried Margy, with enthusiasm. “Let’s give a play! Mother gave me her old black lace dress yesterday! I could wear that.”
If there was one thing Margy loved to do, it was to “dress up” in grown people’s finery and sweep about and pretend that she was a princess.
“Who’ll write the play?” demanded Fred.
“You and Polly,” said Ward so promptly that Fred couldn’t help laughing.
“I thought you’d say something like that,” declared Fred. “But you can change your ideas right away. I know what we’re going to do Thanksgiving, but it isn’t that.”
“Fred!” said Polly, in a warning voice. “You told me you’d promised you wouldn’t tell.”
“Well, who’s telling?” demanded Fred. “I haven’t said a word.”
Of course that drove the others frantic with curiosity, but though they teased and coaxed and, finally, Ward and Artie threw themselves on Fred and got him down on the rug, not another word could they shake from him.
“You’ll know all about it in plenty of time,” he kept repeating.
“Does Polly know?” demanded Jess.