“Maybe you’re right,” she said, “but it seems to me that the strikers would be pretty foolish to do anything like that. Suppose they do take a crew, that won’t matter much, will it?”
“No; not one crew; but suppose they keep on taking them?”
Mamie stared at him with wide-open eyes.
“Do you mean that’s what you think they’ll do?” she questioned.
“I don’t know—it’s a thought that came to me. But it seems foolish, too. Well, we’ll find out in the morning. And now you must be getting to bed. How about the beauty sleep?”
“Beauty sleep, indeed!” cried Mamie, tossing her head. “I don’t need any beauty sleep!”
“No, you don’t!” agreed Allan, gazing at the piquant face. “Do you know, Mamie, you’re growing up into the prettiest girl imaginable!”
“Growing up!” echoed Mamie. “I’ve grown up! Why, I’m nearly seventeen!”
“A tremendous age!”
“Old enough to know you’re talking nonsense!” she retorted, but with the colour coming and going in her cheeks.