Some Peewits, perched respectfully on the outskirts, burst into disrespectful squeaks, and the Penguins refused to meet one another's eyes. At that moment Prissy bore down on them. She was kind but firm.
"What a clever trick, Emma! But it is a trick, isn't it? It wouldn't be quite fair to bet about it, would it? Besides, Happy Warriors don't bet."
Pip-Emma handed back her winnings. She was thoughtful and deliberate. She made no protest. But the Pullman, usually the scene of such happy tumult, sank into an oppressive silence.
* * * * *
But on the bus ride from the station to the Camp the Penguins began to preen their damp feathers. They loved the Camp. They were proud of the big dining room built like a woodman's cabin and the open sleeping tents circled with military precision round the campfires. They were proud of themselves. They got up to the bugle on the coldest mornings and made their beds and fetched water and built fires. They were strong and brave, as Happy Warriors should be. When Emma Binns saw how wonderful it all was and what a fine bunch they were, she'd feel pretty small. And they'd have to be awfully nice to her and not rub things in.
So they felt better and began to sing. And the twins, Pauline and
Claudine Bennett, bounced joyfully in their seats.
It was Pip-Emma's longest journey. She was getting tired and homesick. She'd never been homesick before. It was like toothache in the wrong place. Right now Pop and Ma would be sitting down to Ma's special steak and onions. Afterward, it being Saturday, they'd go to an early show at the movies and finish up with a Pineapple Temptation or maybe a Banana Royal at Hader's drugstore. They'd be feeling pretty mean, too. They hadn't really wanted her to go. They'd wanted her to have a swell time and live like the rich kids did, with butlers waiting on you behind your chair and maybe breakfast brought you on a tray, like in the movies. Because one day Pip-Emma, who was smart as a whip, was going places, so she'd better know how things were done before she got there.
The Gang would be out now in force. Pip-Emma's heart contracted. Maybe they were missing her. Maybe, though, if she sent them post cards showing the swell way she was living, they'd be kinda sunk. She'd tell 'em she had a Gang of her own already and that they were swell kids.
They weren't, of course. She looked them over gloomily. Sissies. Just to look at their nails was enough. As to her Gang, it consisted for the moment of one pale small kid who jumped if you spoke to her.
The station bus swung round a curve.