"I guess so; I'll wait till I've seen the play before I say anything more about it."
"I guess you'd better," said Mrs. Stout, triumphantly. "Paul Jones, take your fingers out of that sauce." Paul Jones obeyed, and licked the sauce from his fingers.
"Ma, is your club goin' to have a ball-nine?" asked Wendell Phillips. He played first base on the Manville Juveniles, which was the only club he knew anything about.
"No, we ain't, Wendell," his mother replied. "Don't you boys get any silly notions about clubs into your heads."
"Ma'd make a bully catcher," suggested Henry Warren.
"Stop your nonsense about baseball or you'll all go to bed," commanded Mrs. Stout, in a tone that the youngsters could not fail to understand.
The silence that followed was broken by the ringing of the door-bell. The boys jumped from their chairs and started on a race for the door.
"Boys!" said Mrs. Stout, sharply, and the three came to a sudden stop. "Set down." They obeyed, and wistfully watched their mother as she started for the front door.
"Why, Miss Wallace!" exclaimed Mrs. Stout when she opened the door and saw who was there. "Come right in."
"Thank you," replied Miss Wallace, "but I haven't time. I called to ask if Henry was feeling any better."