“Ih—hi!” came another voice.
“Tre-la-la,” trilled Bertha Martin gently.
“You mean Turrah-lahee-tee,” said Miriam.
“Good for you, Hendy,” blared Gertrude, in a swinging middle tone.
“Chalk it up. Chalk it up, children,” giggled Jimmie.
Millie looked pensively about her with vague disapproval. Her eyebrows were up. It seemed as if anything might happen; as if at any moment they might all begin running in different directions.
“Cave, my dear brats, be artig,” came Bertha’s cool even tones.
“Ah! we are observed.”
“No, we are not observed. The observer observeth not.”
Miriam saw her companions looking across the boulevard.