Uncle Johnny straightened his immaculately gray-trousered legs and laid his straw hat down on the grass.
"If that'll help things any—I'm he," he explained with a little embarrassment.
"You? You? Really—Uncle Johnny?" came in an excited chorus.
"Yes, me," with a fine scorn for grammar. "I'm the one who's to blame for all the carrots," pinching Gyp's cheek. "But you have sort of mixed things up."
"But we had to win that basketball game," cried Gyp, "and we couldn't unless Ginny played."
"Yes—you had to win the basketball game," he nodded with a judicious appreciation.
"You see, Lincoln got the cup for the series."
"And Jerry paid the price—yes."
"For the honor of the school!"
"Then—I'm afraid this is the last payment. You see, girlies, everything we do—no matter what it is—is fraught with consequences. If I were to go over to yonder lake and throw in a pebble—what would we see? Little ripples circling wider and wider—further and further. That's like life—our everyday actions are so many pebbles—we have to accept the ripples. It's sometimes hard—but I guess Jerry sees the truth."