This precipitated more trouble. Nora was put on the table, that long box used when weather was pleasant and drenched when weather was wet, and from that grandstand, or throne, she was called upon to make silly speeches, prompted by Wyn and interrupted by Betta.
Alma objected. She insisted Nora had hinted to her something she ought to tell the others. And she further maintained it was a matter serious enough to put a stop to all nonsense, and “if the girls aren’t willing to listen quietly, I shall take Nora over to the other tent, where she can tell Becky in peace,” threatened Alma.
This put a soft pedal on all unnecessary sounds: even Wyn desisted.
“Tell us, Nora, please do tell,” begged Wyn. “We have had fun enough to give our poor jaws a rest. Mine are aching from laughing.”
So Nora began.
[CHAPTER XXII—THE DANGER SQUAD IN ACTION]
It was a fascinating tale. Every detail told by Nora took on new value as it was silently applauded by her eager audience. Thus encouraged she waxed eloquent, and when she finished all about the wearing of the Fauntleroy costume, then her desire to tell Alma the truth, when she knew the Scouts were teasing the Tenderfoot, the recital might well have been called a credit, even to the girl who felt guilty of its secrets.
“You see,” she said naïvely, “I was always so much alone. I had no companion but Barbara, and she agreed with everything I said.”
“What a change this must be!” murmured Wyn.
“Hush!” warned Betta. “Funny as you are, Wynnie, you can be rude.”