Van and Percy, just as well pleased, ran hither and yon, very much excited.
"What shall we do to show her we are glad she's coming?" asked Percy, who seized every chance that offered itself to celebrate such events.
"Why, she'll see it," said Joel, pounding away lustily. He was mending his tennis racket. "Whickets! I 'most split that"—holding it up ruefully.
"Mrs. Fisher told you not to say that," cried Van, who dearly loved to bring Joel up for correction.
"Well, I didn't mean—" Joel whirled around on him, "And I guess you'd say it if you'd 'most split your racket, so!"
"She told you not to," repeated Van, knowing his power in holding to that simple statement.
"Well, I didn't mean to, I tell you," cried Joel loudly, and very red in the face.
"And she won't like it," said Van, delighted to see the effect of his words.
Joel's face worked, and he flung the broken racket across the room. It fell with a crash; and he ran over to the bed, hopped into the middle of it, and buried his face in his brown hands, his shoulders in distress.
"I didn't mean—go away," he screamed, kicking as hard as he could.