"It is," said little Eve Edgarton. "And, oh, I forgot to tell you: John Ellbertson is—sort of green, too. Geologists are apt to be, don't you think so?"
"I never saw one," admitted Barton without shame.
"If you'd like me to," said Eve, "I'll show you how the turquoise-colored waves sound—when they strike the hermit-crabs."
"Do!" urged Barton.
Listlessly the girl pushed back into her pillows, slid down a little farther into her blankets, and closed her eyes.
"Mmmmmmmmm," she began, "Mmm-mmmmmmm—Mmmmm—Mmmmmmm, W-h-i-s-h-h-h! Mmmmmmmmm—Mmmmmmmm—Mmmmmmmm—Mmmmmm—W-h-i-s-h-h-h!—Mmmmmmmm—Mmmmmmm—"
"After a while, of course, I think you might stop," suggested Barton a bit creepishly.
Again the big eyes opened at him with distinct surprise. "Why—why?" said Eve Edgarton. "It—never stops!"
"Oh, I say," frowned Barton, "I do feel awfully badly about your going away off to a place like that to live! Really!" he stammered.
"We're going—Thursday," said little Eve Edgarton.