Jack, his chums, the boys, and Cora and Hazel were such a merry party, and attracted so much attention that the man in charge of the machine, after they had each enjoyed two trips through it, came up, and said:
“Say, go through again—for nothing.”
“Why?” inquired Jack.
“Oh, because you’re such a jolly bunch that you are drawing a big crowd in here,” was the explanation. “The man outside is turning ’em away. That’s good business for us. Have another dip or two for nothing. Only keep up the laughing and shouting.”
“No, thank you,” responded Cora, with a smile. “We are not human advertisements, if we have gone through a human washing machine,” and, to the man’s evident disappointment, they walked out of the place.
Bess laughed so uproariously at the sight of a stout woman essaying a trip through the machine, that the motor girl had to sit down on a box to get her breath.
“Oh, I never laughed so much in all my life,” she said.
“Laugh and grow fat,” commented the attendant, meaning no harm.
Bess stopped her mirth suddenly, and gave the man such a look, that, as Jack said, if glances could kill, the poor chap would have been “crippled for life.”
“I wish he was!” snapped Bess, who was very sensitive about her weight. “I never heard of such a thing—just because I laughed a little.”