“But why?” interrogated the young man. “I’ve just come from there, and you say you don’t want anything.”
“I want a serious talk with you,” corrected Mermaid. “How would you prepare H2SO4, Dickie?”
“Hang chemistry!” ejaculated Mr. Hand. “Wait a moment till I get a cookie.” He started into the yard. Mermaid made a short dash and checked him.
“Nothing but yesterday’s crullers,” she stated.
“Well, a cruller, then,” grumbled Dickie.
Mermaid plucked at his sleeve.
“Dick Hand,” she informed him, “you must not go in that house, now. Aunt Keturah has a—a caller.”
“Huh. I don’t suppose he’ll bite me.”
“Well, I will,” the exasperated young woman retorted. “I’ll not speak to you or go to a party with you, if you don’t come along this minute!” Then a purely feminine inspiration seized her. “Do as you like,” she said, with excellent indifference, “I daresay I can get Guy Vanton or Tommy——”
Leaving the sentence unfinished, she controlled herself with an effort and half turned away. Dickie forgot the need of sustenance. Intolerable feelings prompted the young man to fall in at her side. Together they marched solemnly northward. Said Mr. Hand: “Say, Mermaid, I—it—you——”