“Not a sign,” declared Sim.
“Could you gather why Viney Tucker was in the old smokehouse?”
“Only that it was a queer whim,” said Arden, “and she is queer.”
“Yes, such a character as hers would be whimmy.” He lighted a cigarette. Dinner was almost over.
“Is this mistletoe?” asked Dot, bringing out a branch from those her chums had gathered. “You might know, being a bird man.”
“I should think one would need to be a ladies’ man to judge mistletoe,” said Mr. Pangborn, with a laugh and a glance at each of the girls in turn. Terry was downstairs for the first time since her accident.
“Not bad! Not half bad!” laughed Arden. “But do you confirm Viney’s denial? Is it or is it not—mistletoe?”
“No, it isn’t mistletoe,” he said after an examination. “But I suppose it will answer the same purpose. Where are you going to hang it? I should like to know in advance.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” mocked Dorothy.
“I must take a piece with me and put it in Granny Howe’s hair the night of the Christmas party,” said Harry, handing back to Dot the plant she had given him. “I shall claim the privilege on the eve of the holiday.”