“Is the to-be-ginghamed the real peaches and cream or just the ordinary red-apple sort?”
“Neither,” replied his friend. “She’s fourteen and she’s the daughter of your up-country friend the Cyclops, or, to be accurate, Hoss Avery.”
“Oh, Heavings, Davy! But she must be a siren child to have such an intelligent purchasing agent in her employ.”
David did not reply, as he was engaged at that moment in waving the parcel containing the dress round his head in a startling, careless manner.
“Easy with the lingerie, Davy dear. Oh, it’s Cameron you’re flagging—Curious Jim—do you know him?”
“Distantly,” replied David smilingly.
“Correct, my son. So do I.”
Cameron acknowledged the signal by hurrying to the rear of the hotel. In a few minutes he appeared on the wagon, which he drove to the store, and David’s purchases were carefully stowed beneath the seat.
“Where’ll I put this?” said Cameron, surreptitiously squeezing the parcel containing the dress.
“Oh, the lingerie,” volunteered Bascomb. “Put that somewhere where it won’t get broken.”