Even Babs marvelled at the workmanship. It was too fine to be made by some unskilled Italian, and when she tactfully asked Nicky who did make them, he became so excited he could scarcely answer.
“A friend,” was all he said. Babs knew better than to press her question. Cara declared frankly she didn’t care who made them, she was so glad to get them.
“Even if that famous black hander whom the girls are always hinting about, is hidden in the Marcusi shack,” she protested stoutly, “I don’t give a rap. The candlesticks are the quaintest things I’ve ever seen and I’ll give Nicky all the orders he’ll take for more. I want them for Christmas presents,” declared Cara.
Cara and Babs were alone on the beach. The morning was hot and sultry and only a few vagrant clouds gave hope of stirring up a breeze of relief. The girls had already become chums, as Cara had intended and perhaps as Babs had feared—because she considered herself too busy to have a real chum. At least, she thought she felt that way about it.
But she very soon discovered what a foolish notion that was, for a girl like Cara helped her. She did exactly what Dora said she would do—“put some life in Barbara.”
And now that they were really companions, Babs just wondered how she used to get along, all alone or with Glenn Gaynor. Glenn too had changed his habits, and was having a wonderful time going around with Dudley Burke.
“Hope it doesn’t rain,” Cara remarked as the girls made for their bath-houses. “Because you know, Babs, this afternoon——”
“Oh, yes, I know. We’re to have a tiresome old meeting,” grumbled Babs. “Why do old ladies so love to get things up for young ladies? Why can’t they manage their own old patchwork show?”
“They can, dear,” cooed Cara. “But then they’d miss the fun of making us do something. That’s their chiefest joy, you know,” she ended laughingly.
“Yes, I know. Well, I’m only doing what I have to do because I have to,” Babs declared, still in a grumbling mood. “Dads again, you know.”