The first sound of a loud, cheerful voice brought the weepers to their feet. A loud, anguished “Boo, hoo!” sent them into half-tearful giggles.
“That’s more like it,” approved the stout girl in the doorway, her round face alive with kindly solicitude. “If I had sensitive feelings I might think you were crying because you’d invited me to call. But I haven’t. Hal says I am the most unfeeling person he knows. He only says that when his little sister can’t see things the way he does.”
Jerry rattled off these pleasantries while in the midst of a rapturous embrace, bestowed upon her plump person by two now broadly-smiling mourners.
“It’s splendid to see you again, Jerry,” caroled Marjorie, hugging her friend with bearish enthusiasm. Mary echoed Marjorie’s fervent greeting.
“The mere sight of me is always inspiring,” grinned Jerry, winding an arm about each friend. “I hope you have both noticed by this time that I am a great deal thinner than I was last June. I’ve lost two pounds. Isn’t that some loss?”
“Perfectly remarkable,” agreed Marjorie mischievously. “Come on out on the veranda, Jerry. We have such a lot to talk about.”
Four determined, affectionate arms propelled Jerry to the wide, vine-decked porch, established her in the big porch swing, and climbed in beside her.
“Now, tell me, children, why these weeps?” Jerry demanded practically, still retaining her loving hold of her two friends.
“They’ve been on the way all day,” confessed Marjorie. “We’ve both tried not to cry, but—somehow——” Her voice faltered. “You see, Jerry, this is Mary’s and my last week together. Mary’s going away off to Colorado next week.”
“You don’t mean it?” Jerry sat up very straight, looking wide-eyed concern. “You never said a thing about it in your letter. I mean letters. I believe you did write me two.” Jerry registered comical accusation.