“Yes,” agreed Betty hastily. “And when I get home to-morrow the real business of life is going to begin.”
“Act I, Scene I, Life of Betty Wales, B. A.,” said Roberta. “Doesn’t that sound serious? But it won’t be. You’ll play tennis with Nan, and go to dances with your brother and other people’s brothers, and amuse that darling little sister of yours, and be nice to everybody who needs it, just as you always have, except that you won’t be home on a snippy little vacation.”
“Oh, I hope so,” said Betty, laughing at Roberta’s choice of details. “But then I want to do something that counts, too.”
“You’re always doing things that count,” Babe declared, giving her a loving little squeeze.
“That was just fun,” Betty reminded her for the hundredth time at least.
“But if fun counts, it counts,” declared Roberta. “Just ask Madeline Ayres if it doesn’t. If you can make fun out of hard work, then, according to Madeline, you really know how to live.”
“But we’re not the working contingent,” objected Babbie. “K. and Rachel and Helen are the workers.”
“They are!” breathed Bob indignantly. “Just try taking care of certain fresh-air youngsters for two weeks.”
“Or typewriting most particular briefs for your most particular father, who always wants things in a terrific hurry,” added Roberta.
Betty considered. “I’ve helped in little ways of course, but I never did any one big thing. I’m going to now, though.”