“You don’t know my father,” I said.
“Well, I said hardly anybody. Anyway don’t let’s stand here arguing. I guess you can stand a ten minute call.”
“But what shall we talk about?” I persisted.
“Oh anything—ships or shoes or sealing wax,” she returned lightly. “Personally I’ve always found shoes a good subject when hard pressed. Middle-aged people are practically certain to have foot troubles and they just dote on telling you about the kind of shoes they wear and where they got ’em and what a lot they had to pay!”
I giggled. “But if Mrs. Viner’s in bed she won’t be wearing shoes.”
“Oh, I guess she isn’t a permanent invalid. I guess it’ll work out all right. Now do hurry and get ready so we can catch the nine-thirty bus. Aunt Cal’s wrapping up the dandelion wine.”
XV
Tracks in the Dust
Twenty minutes later we set forth. But we had not reached the corner of Harbor Street before we ran into Hattie May. She was walking fast and her face was red. “Why, Hattie May,” I cried, “what is the matter? Your dress is wrong side out!”
Hattie May looked vaguely down at the blue print frock she wore. “Well, it’s no wonder!” she panted. “I dressed in such a hurry——”