“Pooh! that wasn’t the only reason. And, anyway, if they hadn’t stabbed him there wouldn’t have been any play at all!”
“That’s so. Unless they had stabbed somebody else. I say, King, let’s play it ourselves.”
“’Course we will. It’s good to have a new play—I’m tired of Indians every time. Shall we play it now?”
“Yep; Kitty’ll be home at five o’clock, and it’s ’most five now. See the pictures; they all wear sheets.”
“They’re not really sheets, they’re tunics or togars, or whatever you call ’em.”
“Toggas, I guess you say.”
“Yes; just like toggery. Well, you get some sheets, and I’ll make paper soldier caps for helmets.”
“That will do for to-day; but we’ll play it better some other day, and make good helmets with gilt paper or something.”
“All right; skip for the sheets.”
Marjorie flew for the sheets, and came back from the linen closet with several. She brought also her Roman sash, which, she felt sure, would add a fine touch of local color.