“Wish you’d tell me about the picnic,” said Doodles wearily. “Will it be out in that beautiful country where Mr. Gaylord took me?”
“I guess it’s in another direction—Highland Grove. I don’t just know. But they say it’s fine—the fellers that have been.”
“Seems’s if I couldn’t wait! Is it Wednesday?”
“Yes, only a week from to-morrow.”
“You’re sure you can get the tickets?” The voice was anxious.
“Sure, kiddie! Don’t you be worryin’ ’bout that!”
“No, but once in a while I think, what if I couldn’t! When’ll you get them?”
“I do’ know—next week prob’ly.”
“And you think there’ll be ice cream?” The question quivered with eagerness.
“’Course! ’Twouldn’t be a picnic without! Oh, the Salvation Army folks do things up fine!”