“She can’t sail one bit.”
“No, but she’d make lovely ballast.”
“Isabel says we must have club colors,” Sue exclaimed, with one of her mental somersaults. “She wants pale pink and green.”
“Too much like shrimp salad,” said Polly gravely. “We want something distinctive, and yet simple, that will stand sea and sunshine. Let’s see, sea and sunshine, blue and gold. A golden sun on a field of blue for a pennant, and for club colors, blue and gold. How would that do?”
“I like that,” assented Sue. “Can I make them up, Polly? Let me take care of the colors. I haven’t anything to do for the club specially as yet. Ted’s making up lists of rare shells and says she’ll bring the marshmallows.”
“Marshmallows?” laughed Polly. “What are they for?”
“To toast over a driftwood fire, nights on the beach. Ted says they’ll come in very handy, when we’re all gathered around telling stories. You take a long stick, put a hatpin through one end, stick a marshmallow on the end of the hatpin, and toast it. It’s just like broiled whipped cream.”
“Oh, I know,” Polly leaned her chin on her palms, and spoke confidentially, “we’re going to have a dandy time, know it, Sue? Ruth has her guitar, you, Ted, and I have mandolins, and we’ll keep up a glee club. The dear old book of class songs went into my suitcase first thing. You just ought to see Aunty Welcome’s outfit. She has a medicine chest that must go even if everything else gets left behind. Arnica, and quinine, and ginger, and bandages. Oh, I don’t know what she isn’t taking along. She says she’s prepared for any emergency except the end of the world, and if that happens, she’ll just fold her hands together, and hope for the best.”
“Maybe it will all come in handy. Have you thought about a swimming suit?”
Polly nodded.