“I fancy you will, sonny,” said Agnes, looking at him slyly. “There are lots of goodies in it.”
“Now run and get your hats and wraps, children,” commanded Ruth seizing the last two slices of bread Agnes had cut. “That will do, Aggie. Leave a little bread for the folks to eat to-day while we’re gone. That basket is all packed, Neale, and you may take it out and put it in the tonneau.”
“Oh, my!” gasped Agnes, clasping her hands. “Doesn’t that sound fine?”
“What sounds fine!” asked her boy chum, surreptitiously putting the last crumb of a broken sandwich he had found into his mouth.
“The way Ruth said ‘tonneau.’ So—so Frenchy and automobily!”
“Why, Aggie!” gasped Tess, in amazement, before following Dot out of the kitchen, “you’re making up words just like Dot does.”
“I feel like making up words,” laughed Agnes, who had been “crazy for a car” for months and months! “We’ll all be talking about ‘tonneaus,’ and ‘carbureters,’ and ‘gas,’ and ‘wiring,’ and ‘differentials,’ and——”
“And ‘equilaterals,’ and ‘isosceles triangles,’ and all that,” scoffed Neale. “You’ll know a hot lot about an automobile, Agamemnon.”
“Come, young man!” exclaimed Ruth, tartly, for she was very exact with boys, feeling sure that she did not approve of them—much, “suppose you take the basket out to the car—and these wraps—and this coffee—and the little nursery icebox with the milk bottles—and——”
“Hold on! Hold on!” yelled Neale O’Neil. “What do you think I have—as many arms as a spider? I can’t do it all in one trip.”