"You read it! Where?" demanded Cordelia.
"In father's big sac'l'pedia." Edith's voice sounded grieved, but triumphant. "I was up in auntie's room, and I saw it. It was open on her bed, and I read it. It said there was coal and iron and silver, and lots and lots of gypsies."
There was a breathless hush, followed suddenly by a shrieking laugh from Tilly.
"Oh, girls, girls!" she gasped. "That blessed child means 'gypsum.' I saw that in papa's encyclopedia just the other day."
"But what is gypsum?" demanded Alma Lane.
"Mercy! don't ask me," shuddered Tilly. "I looked it up in the dictionary, but it only said it was a whole lot of worse names. All I could make out was that it had crystals, and was used for dressing for soils, and for plaster of Paris. Gypsies! Oh, Edith, Edith, what a circus you are!" she chuckled, going into another gale of laughter.
It was Fred's injured tones that filled the first pause in the general hubbub that followed Tilly's explanation.
"You haven't heard mine, yet," he challenged. "Mine's right!"
"Well?" questioned Cordelia, wiping her eyes. (Even Cordelia had laughed till she cried.) "What is yours, Fred?"
"It's boats. There hasn't one of you said a single thing about the boats you were going to ride in."