“Why no. Of course not,” said Gloria quickly.
“How’s your cousin with the red hair?”
“Look out who you’re calling a red head, Tom Whitely,” charged Gloria, “I can’t see that your own head is exactly black.”
“’Tisn’t as carroty as hers,” retorted Tom. “Well, how is the girl with the golden locks? If you like that better.”
“I didn’t see Hazel,” replied Gloria indifferently. Then hurried to talk of something else. “Tom,” she said suddenly, “I guess I’ll have time to go over and see the peace offering. Jane doesn’t expect me till the six o’clock car.”
“And Mumsey will be glad to see you, Glo,” responded the boy, brightly. “She said this morning you were scarcer than hen’s teeth.”
“I don’t like to be compared with hen’s teeth, but since there isn’t any such thing perhaps I’ll forgive you. How’s all the bruises?”
“Turning green and mother says that’s the last stage. But no fooling, that old arm is stiff.” He demonstrated with a couple of easy exercises and even winced at those.
“Get the wheel?”
“I wouldn’t take it. The chain rattled like a flivver. There’s mother fetching in kindling. I thought I left enough for a week,” and before Gloria had time to reply Tom was off to relieve the mother of her kindling basket.