CHAPTER XXII
TARTS AND LADY FINGERS
No one would believe her. They all came out of the water as Nancy arrived at the beach, and declined positively, to go in.
“I’m too—flustered,” she insisted. “My head is swimming now and it doesn’t matter about my heels.”
“But Nancy,” protested Marion Mason, one of the Upper Crust Hill girls, “how could you have heard anybody or anything in that open field? No bushes nor trees big enough to hide behind, just there.”
“It was the cat,” insisted Christine Berg, a friend of Marion’s. “There are queer cats—always have been—around the old stone house. First, the cat meaowed, just to entice you,” said Christine, wringing out the scant skirt of her black satin bathing suit. “And then, when she got you over there, she did the rest,” finished the very blonde girl with the lovely hazel eyes.
“Sort of ventriloquist,” added Isabel. “Well, at any rate, Nan, you have had a thrill. Vera, wouldn’t that constitute a thrill, don’t you think?”
“I’ll tell you what I think,” chimed in Ruth. “I think we had better hurry to dress or we shall be late for our lesson, and mine is cream-puffs today. Our family can eat cream-puffs until the puff—” But the girls, running up to the little bath houses, deprived Ruth of her audience, and also of the necessity of finishing her simile.
Nancy sat on the little board-walk edge of the row of houses, while the girls dressed. Ruth finished first and joined her there.
“Really, Nan?” she quizzed, in an under tone.
“Most certainly—really,” replied Nancy, seriously. “Do you suppose I would make that up for fun?”