"Poor boys," said Amy impulsively. "Why don't they bring the things here?"
But Mollie's thoughts took another direction. "I hope they bring back the sapolio," she said practically. "It was the only cake we had."
Betty paused half way to the kitchen and balanced her pile of dishes on one hand. "Mollie," she cried in dismay, "they will never think of it! Don't you think you had better go back and tell them, Frank?" she said.
"Sure!" he answered obligingly, while he sunk into an easy chair with a sigh of content. Evidently he was settled for the evening.
"Then why don't you go?" Mollie demanded impatiently. "If boys aren't the most aggravating things, when they want to be!" she added.
"There's plenty of time," Frank assured her calmly. "I left the fellows in the first throes of cleaning up—they won't be through for half an hour at least."
"Well, I don't care," said Betty, continuing her journeyings into the kitchen. "If we haven't anything to scour the pans with, then they'll not get scoured—that's all."
"That's the spirit I like to see," said Frank, and Betty could have thrown something at him, with the greatest of pleasure. "It's fine to see anybody resigned to the inevitable."
"Well, I know one thing," Mollie threatened, "if you don't go back in five minutes, I will," and for emphasis she banged the salt cellar forcibly upon the table.
"What's the matter with our going together?" Frank inquired, moving his head slightly to bring Mollie within his range of vision. "The distance won't seem half as far if I have such pleasant company," he added gallantly.