“A fine lot of suffragettes you are going to make,” growled Dave.
“No; we’ll never be ‘suffering-cats,’ Davie,” returned Frank, laughing. “We don’t need to. Let us alone for being able to get the best of you Busters whenever we want to.”
“Isn’t she right?” cried Ferdinand Roberts, admiringly. “You can’t beat ’em!”
“No, you can’t,” snarled Tubby Blaisdell, very puffy about his face, and with a wry smile. “They even get the goats to help ’em.”
“They got your goat, old man,” said Dave, chuckling, “that’s sure. But you blame them for a crime they did not commit, I believe. Remember how many times you have tried to trick them?”
“Huh!” snorted the fat youth. “Did I ever succeed?”
“I hope,” said Mrs. Havel, breaking in upon this “give and take” conversation, “that your parents will not blame me if you all appear–both girls and boys–to have lost your good manners here in the woods. Do simmer down. Remember, you return to civilization to-day.”
“Oh, dear! don’t remind us–don’t, dear Mrs. Havel,” cried Frank.
“Just think!” scoffed Ferd. “You girls will have to be all ‘dolled up’ on Sunday again. Won’t you hate it?”
“Rather go around in a tramping skirt and without a hat,” admitted Wyn, frankly.