One of the Snooks children was waiting for him when he came home late one afternoon. Mrs. Snooks had hesitated when Peggy had asked to use one of the boys as a messenger, not being sure that the loaning of her offspring for such a purpose was not contrary to her newly acquired principles. The casual mention on Peggy’s part of a dime to be awarded the messenger, had settled the question satisfactorily, and little Andy Snooks, digging his bare toes into the yielding earth, at last found the chance to do his errand.
“They’s going to Snake River, them city girls. And She says–” Jerry did not find the pronoun ambiguous–“She says will you drive ’em?”
“I’m going to be busy.”
Little Andy stared unbelievingly.
“They’s baking turnovers and things. She gave me a cooky with a crinkled edge. ’Twas good, too, you bet.”
“You tell ’em I’ll be busy.” Jerry pushed past Andy and entered the house. He was astonished at the turmoil of his spirit. “Wish she’d let me alone,” he said fiercely. “I’m not bothering her none. I don’t see why she can’t leave me be.”
Peggy received the concise report of her messenger with a little grimace which hid a real disappointment.
“The silly boy!” she mused. “Next time I’ll go myself. I simply won’t stand his sulking. It’s too absurd.” Then she gave her attention to the more immediate problem.
“Well, girls, Jerry won’t drive us and Lucy can’t.” Lucy Haines was devoting herself to making her meagre wardrobe ready for the opening of school, and for her a holiday was out of the question. “Now, what are we going to do? Give it up?”
An indignant chorus negatived that suggestion. “I used to know something about driving,” said Elaine, who seemed to have developed a remarkable faculty for filling vacancies of almost any description. “But I shouldn’t like to try to manage spirited horses. Now what are you all laughing at?”