“Did I? All right, then. I came away in such a hurry I can’t remember what I took and what I didn’t.”
“I guess we’ve got about everything now,” 6 resumed Dave, looking around the bedroom. He glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes to twelve. We are to have lunch at a quarter past, and start at one, sharp.”
“Provided the auto is ready,” interposed Phil.
“It will be—trust my Uncle Dunston for that,” answered Dave. “My, but isn’t it jolly to think we are going back to school in the auto instead of by train!”
“Yes, and to think that the girls and your uncle are going with us!” added Roger.
“Dave, look out for Roger, he’s got his eye on Laura!” said Phil, slyly.
“Oh, you give us a rest, Phil Lawrence!” burst out Roger, growing red. “I guess you’ve got an eye on her yourself.”
“Poor me! Poor me!” murmured Phil, as if talking to himself. “Roger will talk to nobody but Laura, and Dave will see and hear and think of nobody but Jessie, and I’ll be left in the cold! Oh, what a cruel world this is! If only—wow!” and Phil’s pretended musings came to a sudden end, as Dave shied a pair of rolled-up socks at him and Roger followed with a pillow. In another instant a mimic battle was on, with pillows and various articles of clothing for ammunition. Then came another knock on the door and Laura Porter appeared, with a baseball bat in one hand and her brother’s cap in the other. 7
“Oh dear me!” she cried, and then stopped short, for a red sweater, thrown by Roger at Phil, had missed its aim and landed on her head.
“I beg your pardon, Laura, really I do!” gasped Roger, as he sprang forward and took the sweater from its resting-place. “I—I didn’t mean that for you.”