“There, look what you’ve done!” she cried to her brother. “And this was my best dress, too! It’s ruined!”
She began wiping up the spots of lemonade with her handkerchief.
“It’ll come out,” consoled Phil, as he turned to look at the flight of the fluttering insect. “Take a little vinegar, or—er—something like that.”
“Lemonade’s an acid, and it needs an alkali to take it out,” declared Frank. “Vinegar is an acid too. It isn’t a case of like curing like in this case.”
“How do you know?” demanded Sid. “Did you ever take spots out of dresses?”
“No, but I did out of a pair of white trousers that had the same sort of a bath as Ruth’s dress got,” declared the Big Californian. “It worked fine, too.”
“I think lemonade is neutral,” put in Phil. “At least this is, for there’s none left. Sorry I spoiled the party.”
“Oh, there’s more,” spoke Helen. “I brought along a jar in my basket. Pass it over, will you please, Phil.”
The additional supply of lemonade was broached and they fell to talking merrily again, though there was an undercurrent of suspense noticeable. It was clear that the girls did not know what to make of the absence of Madge, and they tried to cover it up by gay laughter.
“Well, you didn’t happen to bring along any more sandwiches; did you Helen?” asked Phil with a sigh, as he finished his—well, but what’s the use in telling on a fellow, and keeping track of the number of sandwiches he eats? Suppose Phil did have a good appetite?