“Fire away, then,” said Bert, “but cut it short. What’s it all about?”
“It’s this,” burst out Dotty, for Dolly couldn’t seem to find the right words. “We’re booming Bernice. And you two have got to help!”
“Help! Help!” cried Bert, faintly. “Do I get you aright?”
“You do!” and Dotty wagged her black head, vigorously. “You sure do! Now, the situation is this—”
“Let me tell,” said Dolly, who had recovered her nerve. “For reasons of my own, which I will not explain at present, but which affect you, Bert, as much as me, it is necessary that we make Bernice popular—”
“What!” exploded Bob. “Bernice popular! Oh, Jiminy Crickets! that’s a good one!”
“Yes, popular,” repeated Dolly, severely. “And if it seems so difficult to you, then there will be all the more glory in accomplishing it. Now, don’t stop to argue; just realise that we’re going to do it. Look on it as a stunt, to be wrastled somehow, and—and chip in and help us. Are you wid us or agin us?”
Dolly was standing now, and flung out her arms like an importunate orator, pleading for the sympathies of his audience. A determined fire shone in her deep blue eyes, a determined smile curved her red lips, and as she paused for a reply, Bob shouted, “To the last ditch!”
“Good for you!” and Dolly thanked him with a beaming smile. “Now, Bert, of course you’re in it, too. So here’s the game. We four are to do all we can, in a clever and quiet way, to make Bernice Forbes’ party a howling success, and—”
“Told you it was a party!” growled Bert. “Hate parties!”