“’Phemie!” gasped her sister. “If you say such a thing again, I’ll send Mr. Somers packing!”
“Oh, shucks! Can’t you see the fun of it!?”
“There is no fun in it,” declared the very proper Lyddy. “It is only disgraceful.”
“I’d like to tell that young Mr. Colesworth about it,” laughed ’Phemie. “He’d just be tickled to death.”
Lyddy looked at her haughtily. “You dare include me in any gossip of such a character, and I–”
“Well? You’ll what?” demanded the younger girl, saucily.
“I shall feel very much like spanking you!” declared Lyddy. “And that is just what you would deserve.”
“Oh, now–don’t get mad, Lyd,” urged ’Phemie. “You take things altogether too seriously.”
“Well,” responded the older girl, going back to the main subject, “the problem of how we are to cook when it comes warm weather is a very, very serious matter.”
“We’ve just got to have a range–ought to have one with a tank, on the end in which to heat water. I’ve seen ’em advertised.”