“Where is the bottle, Augusta?”
“In my drawer.”
“It does not hold so very much,” said Prudence, meditatively lifting the bottle to the light.
“It does not, and oh! of course I shall require more than you, being older.”
“But I paid for half,” said Prudence mildly.
“Even so, it is quite fair. Less than half will have as much effect on you as the rest on me. We shall then be both of an age, and that will be much pleasanter. Don’t you think so?”
“Ye—es,” answered Prudence doubtfully, “it will be a little strange. But do as you wish about it, Augusta; you know best. By the way, did you remark that the bottle is cracked?”
“Cracked? No!” cried Miss Semaphore with a little shriek of dismay, and rushing to her sister’s side.
Cracked it undoubtedly was.
“It must have been Toutou in the train,” she gasped. “I was afraid of it at the time. Oh! the naughty, naughty dog. Do be careful, Prudence. Put it down softly. She said it was to be kept carefully corked.”