“Your brother?” cried somebody.
“Is he married?” whispered another girl, perfectly audibly.
Marjorie laughed good-naturedly.
“No, he isn’t married or engaged. As far as I know, he’s never even been in love.”
“He isn’t one-eyed, or anything, is he?” questioned Stella.
“No, he’s quite normal and respectable,” replied Marjorie. “But you don’t have to decide upon a coach until you see him. The question is: are you interested?”
“I’ll say we are!” declared Queenie, warmly, and of course the troop acquiesced.
“It means hard work—both in basket-ball itself, and in scouting. There are six girls on a team, so at least four of you would have to qualify, and pass your second-class tests by November fifteenth, to register.”
“We’ll do it!” announced Queenie. “No more parties, nuthin’ but work, work, work! We’ll show ’em who’s top in the scouts. We’ll be the pussy’s meow——”
“And win that there cup!” concluded Stella, herself now thoroughly won over to the proposition.