As Berta did not see either, they decided with considerable sound sense meanwhile to go to luncheon. The next day after many minutes of discouraging meditation mingled with a few hours of tennis in the gymnasium, an idea came to them. While they rested on the window ledge, watching Gertrude stroll to and fro in the sunshine balmy at last, Bea began to waste her breath as usual.
“‘To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow drags out its weary course from day to day,’” she quoted with mindless cheerfulness, only to interrupt herself good naturedly, “say, Berta, do you realize that the third to-morrow aforementioned is April Fool’s Day? I wish something interesting would happen. This is the most monotonous place in vacation.”
“To-morrow never is, it always will be,” corrected the carping critic.
Bea with indifference born of long endurance paid no attention. “I say!” rapturously as the idea began to dawn upon her inward vision, “let’s reconcile them with a joke.”
“All right,” agreed her partner with most charming alacrity, “what joke?”
The question was rather a poser, as Bea was inclined to take only one step at a time and utter one thought as it obligingly arrived, without anxiety about the next. This tendency had occasionally landed her high and dry on the shores of nothingness in the classroom.
“Oh, um-m-m, I haven’t determined that point yet. It isn’t only great minds that move slowly.” Gertrude’s cape swung into view at the turn of the walk. “Berta, she looks awfully lonesome, doesn’t she?”
“Well,” argued the other, “nobody can expect us to do all the tagging around ourselves, especially where a contemporary is concerned. If she wants us to walk with her, she might omit a few snubs now and then. I’m tired of chasing after her.”
“The trouble is that you are not a faithful friend, faithful friend,” rattled Bea, “man’s faithful friend, the dog. Oh, oh, oh, Berta, I have an idea!”
“Noble girl!” Berta patted her on the head. “I generously refrain from comment.”