"Me, too," Amy cried.
Uncle Philander-Behind-His-Back sneered contemptuously. "Why, I'd give you four a hundred dollars to hold your tongues for a week."
"Girls," cried Peggy turning to her friends, "I move we take him up on that."
Had Uncle Philander-Behind-His-Back been less disagreeable, less contemptuous, the girls might have hesitated, for a week of silence is an ordeal to the least voluble. But Mr. Frost's sneers, combined with Peggy's enthusiasm, swept them off their feet.
"Yes, we'll take you up," Amy cried, and Priscilla and Ruth nodded approval.
Uncle Philander was a little taken aback, and showed it. "You understand when I said hold your tongues, I meant it. If there's an aye, yes, or no out of any of the four of you, it's all off."
"Of course," agreed the four girls in chorus.
Mr. Frost was plainly growing nervous. "Of course I haven't any way to keep tab on you."
"Philander," cried his wife, bristling with indignation, "If you think Amy or any of her friends would lie for the sake of money—"