“Won’t Enid be surprised?” said Eva. “Won’t she be glad, too? You look lovely, Frank, and that suit of yours is beautiful. I bet you’ll be the nicest-looking grown-up boy there, and I’m real glad you’re here to come with us. What a pity you’re not a poet, Frank,” she concluded.
“A poet? One of those chaps that forgets to have his meals?” cried Frank, teasingly.
“No, a real nice, clever poet, and write big books of poems, and have pretty pictures in them. You know, I could paint the pictures later on, because I’m going to be an artist.”
“Oh, well, I’ll think about it,” laughed Frank, “and perhaps we’ll bring out a book in conglomeration—Eva Hudson and Frank Lynton.”
“Wouldn’t it be lovely?” she gasped.
“Oh! let’s talk about the party,” pleaded Doris. “Don’t be an old poet, ’cause it’s real hard gettin’ words to go, an’ you’d be always writin’ and writin’, an’ you’d never have time for games or anything. A party’s better’n poems a lot.”
They all fell to wondering what the Garlands would wear.
“Of course there’ll only be Colin and Meta there, I suppose, unless Edith goes to look on.”
“No, they’re all going,” said Mollie. “Even the twins.”
“What! the twins going? Oh, that’ll be better than ever!” they cried. “The twins will give us some fun. Oh, Frank, you’ll love the twins!”