“We will begin,” said Gypsy, “by building a little house, the size of Wendy and Peter’s, in a crowded thoroughfare. The house will have only one room, but two doors, both looking the same way. One door is yours and one is mine. When the weather is fine you will come out of your door while I stay inside and cook the sausages, and when it’s bad I will come out of my door while you go in and make the tea. And all the people will give us pennies for telling them what the weather is. That’s all.”
“Oh Gypsy!” exclaimed Ginger. She had always loved him, and often admired him; but now she almost respected him.
“We’d work on the swing system, you see,” said Gypsy. “I think there’d be a pivot in the middle of the floor and a little plank on it, with me on one end and you on the other.”
“We shouldn’t often meet,” said Ginger pensively.
“But think how jolly it would be to wave to each other,” said Gypsy.
“I’d wave my orange handkerchief,” said Ginger.
“I’d wave a blue one,” said Gypsy. “And I’d have a little blue top hat and coat, and bottle-green waistcoat and trousers, all varnished.”
“I’d have a round red bodice, very tight,” said Ginger, “and a little round yellow sailor hat, and I’d be varnished too. I’m afraid your varnish will wear off in the rain.”
“Well, you’ll fade a bit in the sun yourself,” said Gypsy.
“I’m sorry you’re to have all the bad weather,” said Ginger.