Cricket sprang up with sparkling eyes.
“Eunice, let’s go and tell him! Come on, straight off, and don’t let’s tell anybody till we get back, ’cause they wouldn’t let us, I suppose. Grown people are so funny. And somebody ought to tell.”
Eunice stared helplessly at Cricket, aghast at this daring proposal. Her younger sister’s rapidity of thought and action often took her breath away.
“Go to the President’s house? Oh, Cricket, would you dare?”
“Of course I would,” answered Cricket, boldly. “He’s only a man. He couldn’t eat us, could he? We’ll just tell him we’re Doctor Ward’s daughters, ’cause he knows papa. Don’t you remember that papa dined with him last week? And we’ll just tell him that Don and Sidney Chester were calling on Miss Vassar, and that some of the others weren’t in it, too, and ask him please to give them all another chance.”
Cricket was flying out of one dress and into another all the time she talked. Eunice still stared.
“Would papa like it?” she hesitated.
“It won’t make any difference after it’s done; and if he doesn’t like it, why,—I’ll never do it again. I’ll have the satisfaction of doing it once, though. Come on, you old slowpoke. I’m nearly ready.”
“We don’t know where he lives,” objected Eunice, feebly, but getting up and going to the closet.
“I do. Or rather, I know the house when I see it, and anybody will tell us the way. I know what cars to take from here, and the conductors can tell us where to change. We’ll be all right,” finished Cricket, confidently. “Do hurry, Eunice,” and Eunice hurried, feeling as if she were pursued by a small cyclone.