"It's a party," beamed Mary Rose. "I've always thought the world was full of nice people and now I know it. Aunt Kate's forever telling me that I'm too little to know the good from the bad but I tell her there isn't any bad, that the Lord wouldn't waste His time and dust, and anyway I have the right kind of an eye. I showed that when I made friends with you and Mr. Jerry."
When she left she hesitated at the gate. "Would it be a bother if I brought a friend over to see George Washington?" she ventured. "I'd like Miss Thorley to meet him and then perhaps she'd paint his picture."
"I should think she would," promptly agreed Mr. Jerry. "He's a cat who deserves to have his portrait painted. Bring over any friends you wish, Mary Rose," hospitably, "but let me know first so George Washington will be home. Sometimes I take him out with me," gravely.
Mary Rose gazed at him with adoration. "I don't believe I could have found a better boarding place for him, not if I had searched all Waloo. I'll let you know, Mr. Jerry, just as soon as I know myself."
CHAPTER XI
But before Mary Rose could write the letter that would tell Jimmie Bronson that she was now financially able to maintain her animal friends she had a big surprise.
The day had been warm and sultry, the sort that makes every nerve disagreeably alive and brings to the surface all the unpleasant little traits that in cooler weather one can keep hidden.
"Old General Humidity hasn't shirked his job a minute to-day," Bob Strahan told Miss Carter as they left the car and walked up the block to the Washington together.
In front of them sauntered a boy with a dog at his heels. The boy was a sturdy young fellow of perhaps fourteen, very shabby as to clothes but very dauntless as to manner. The dog was a fox terrier with one black spot over his left eye like a patch. Bob Strahan whistled and snapped his fingers at him.