“For the love of Mike!”
“Where did you rain down from?”
“O dear, O dear! You ridiculous boys!”
“What a guy you do look, Polly!”
And slowly out of the babel of voices came a deep solemn: “Donnerwetter!” It was not a lady-like expression for a nice little German girl to use, but she knew that to American ears it sounded more harmless than her usual expletives, and, besides, she felt that if ever an occasion had warranted emphasis this was it. She and Polly, dripping, draggled, ragged, confronted with Algernon, Max, Bert and Archie, almost as wet, grouped about Amanda B. Mills’ kitchen stove!
172Mrs. Mills’ astonishment at the boisterous greeting given her latest guests by the earlier ones was so manifest that Polly hastened to make all clear with introductions.
“How do you happen to be here?” she asked, as she finished, and Archie had made a Chesterfieldian bow, though the blue from his Andover cap had run into his fair hair.
“Fishing,” answered Bert. “We drove out from town with our old nag, hitched her to a tree and fished. Thunder and lightning always rile the beast, and she just broke her tie-strap and oozed off home, and left us in her wake. We got this far, walking, but the road was such a juicy mess we decided to stop and telephone for some one to come out after us.”
“That’s what I am going to do. Where is the telephone, Mrs. Mills?”
“O, do allow us to have the pleasure,” begged Max. “They said they’d send out the ‘light bearers’ wagon,’ and it’s warranted to hold six. Besides it will be here in twenty minutes, and a private equipage would take longer.”