“No, you are the joke,” countered Evelyn.
Jessie’s natural sweet temper was fast becoming ruffled by this rapid fire and she had opened her mouth for a sharp retort when Lucile came running out.
“What’s the matter?” she cried, gaily, and then, at sight of Jessie’s face, she stopped.
“Overdose of hammers,” she diagnosed, then wisely changed the subject.
“If we don’t hurry up, the girls will be here before we have a chance to say anything at all about Mrs. Wescott.”
She perched herself upon the railing beside Jessie and soon they had forgotten all momentary animosity in an animated discussion.
Five minutes later Lucile exclaimed, “Here come Marj., Ruth and Margaret now. I wonder where the rest of them are.”
“Welcome to our city,” said Jessie. “We have great news for you strangers.”
“So we imagined.” It was Marjorie Hanlan, a tall, dark, good-looking girl, who answered.
“I couldn’t sleep, wondering what you wanted,” chimed in Margaret, the little girl who had been lame, but now was just like other girls.