“Even if we weren’t, I should be glad to get away from this place,” said the girl, suddenly a little cross.
“Why?” asked Neale O’Neil, in surprise.
“Because of that pest, Sammy Pinkney.”
“What about him?”
“He is fairly hounding us to death,” said Agnes, with a sigh.
“What about?”
“He has begged to go with us every hour—almost—since he first heard we were going on a long trip in our auto.” Then she suddenly giggled. “Oh, Neale! He has decided that it would be more fun to be an auto pirate than a salt water buccaneer of the old school.”
“One great kid that,” chuckled Neale, appreciatively.
“But he is an awful nuisance. He bothers the little girls whenever they go out of the house. He’s told his mother he’s going with us—and I suppose Mrs. Pinkney half believes we have invited him.”
“Cricky!” chuckled Neale again. “I imagine she’d be glad to get rid of him for a few weeks.”