Frances gazed at the speaker, her eyes widely-opened and horrified.
“Max! You don’t mean he would hurt that baby?”
“Wouldn’t he? Doesn’t he, if he gets the chance? He’s a—a—beast! Beg pardon!”
“It’s fearful!” sighed Frances, pausing perforce on the threshold of the social problem which had risen before her. “He ought to be punished.”
“He will be, when I’m big enough to thrash him,” murmured Max; and Frances turned a face flushed with sympathy to this chivalrous lad. “But don’t let us punish our Altruist baby.”
“Oh, Max! When you wheedle—,” said the Altruist secretary, shaking her head. “Here are your things, and you must be responsible. Now, in return for your pleasant news about Baker, I’ll tell you something really nice. I have added up our funds, and I find we have quite a lot of money; so I am getting ready a list of ‘wants’, and to-morrow we will have a shopping expedition. We girls shall need large supplies of scarlet flannel and crimson serge to make into clothing for our Christmas presents. You boys are sure to require things for your workshops. We will take the pony-carriage and drive into Exham. As to-morrow will be Saturday, not many Altruists will care to leave the playing-fields; but you will come, won’t you, Max?”
“If Dad doesn’t want me.”
“And there will be Austin and Florry—four of us. You and Austin can get the things for your own work while Florry and I buy yards and yards of flannel and serge and calico.”
“Will there be room for us boys in the trap coming home?” inquired Max meekly. “I’d like to know whether, if the cargo weighs down the pony, you mean to sacrifice us or the flannel?”
“You, of course!”