“As if we could forget!” cried Kitty, embracing Cutty, who accepted the embrace stoically. “I'll be needing clothes, and Johnny will have to have his hair cut. Oh, Cutty, I'm so foolishly happy!”
“Time we started for the choo-choo. Time-tables have no souls. But, Lord, what a racket we've had!”
“Well, rather!”—from Hawksley.
“Bo, listen to me. Out there you must remember that 'bally' and 'ripping' and 'rather' are premeditated insults. Gee-whiz! but I'd like a look-see when you say to your rough-and-readies: 'Bally rotten weather. What?' They'll shoot you up.”
More banter; which fooled none of the three, as each understood the other perfectly. The hour of separation was at hand, and they were fortifying their courage.
“Funny old top,” was Hawksley's comment as they stood before the train gate. “Three months gone we were strangers.”
“And now—” began Cutty.
“With hoops of steel!” interrupted Kitty. “You must write, Cutty, and Johnny and I will be prompt.”
“You'll get one from the Azores.”
“Train going west!”