“And she can talk in French,” piped up Bessie of the spectacles.
Bea thrust Gorgas at arms length.
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
“Honest?”
“Yes.”
“Is it ketchin’?” This with mock fear.
Only laughter answered this question.
“Well, I want it to be.” Bea nodded her head vindictively. “I want to ketch a whole lot of it. Old Bong-joor gave me ten pages of French exercises to write out. Browny, you’re my lucky stone. I’m going to love you.” She grabbed Gorgas once more and rocked her like a baby, “Will you do every one of them for me?”
Gorgas said she would be glad to help.