“You wouldn’t? Well, wouldn’t you like some bread and butter and jam?”
“Wha’s jam?” said Ardelia conservatively.
“Why, it’s—er—marmalade,” the young lady explained. “All sweet, you know.”
“Naw!” and Ardelia turned away and fingered the refuse with an air of finality that caused the young lady to sigh with vexation.
“I thought you might like to go on a picnic,” she said helplessly. “I thought all little girls liked——”
“Picnic? When?” cried Ardelia, moved instantly to interest. “I’m goin’!”
She brushed the garbage from her dress—Ardelia was of that emancipated order of women who disapprove of the senseless multiplication of feminine garments, and wore, herself, but one—and regarded her rescuer impatiently.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “I’m all ready. Hump along!”
“We’ll go and ask your mother first, won’t we?” suggested the young lady, a little bewildered at this sudden change of attitude.
“Jagged,” Ardelia returned laconically. “She’d lift y’r face off yer! Is it the Dago picnic?”