"Well, I think you ought to be ashamed of yourself," cried Margery, airily. "Don't you, Lydia?"
"No, I don't, I'm proud of him, though I'm scared to death," said
Lydia. "Things are so much worse than I thought they'd be."
"Well, I just tell you, Billy Norton," there was a sudden shrill note in Margery's voice, "if anything really horrid is unearthed about Daddy, I'll never speak to you again. Would you, Kent?"
"I don't intend to anyhow," replied Kent, coolly. "How'd you come out,
Marg?"
"I walked from the trolley. I'd no idea it was so hot."
"Let me take you home in my toot-toot."
"But I just got here," protested Margery.
"It's now or never," said Kent, rising, "I've got to run along."
"Oh, if it's that serious!" Margery took Kent's arm. "By-by, Lydia!
Come over and see my new dresses."
After they were gone, Billy sat up and looked at Lydia. Neither spoke for a few moments. The sun was sinking and all the world was enveloped in a crimson dust. There had been a drought now for six weeks. Even Amos' garden was languishing.