"I'm so excited about the contest, I can almost forget Kitty and Luna Land," gurgled Margaret. They were running along the lakeside, up to the river landing, with the hope of gaining the boy's confidence over nut sundaes.
"He's there! That's lucky!" Helen said, sighting in the open pavilion, the desired Boy Scout, just in the act of sizzling a soda.
"And he has on a clean apron, a good sign," said Margaret under her breath.
Tables nearest the water and farthest from land (thus most secluded) were chosen, and favorite frappes were smilingly ordered.
"Listen to catch his name," whispered Cleo, but a call for "Tommie" voided the suggestion. Tommie fetched their sundaes in that miraculous way waiters have of carrying cup and saucers heaped up, just as jugglers catch them.
"Been practicin'?" inquired Grace glibly.
"What for?" asked Tommie, whisking his towel over the table.
"Why, for the contest," answered Grace, as if the whole world should know that.
"Oh, yes a little," admitted Tommie, gliding off to a new customer.
"Didn't notice that he waved any program," said Louise.