“Indeed we don't, Pickering Dodge,” cried Polly indignantly, “laugh and play and giggle, the very idea!”
“And if you say such dreadful things I'll pitch you out of the carriage,” cried Jasper in pretended wrath.
“Ow! I'll be good. Take off your nippers,” cried Pickering, cringing back down into his corner as far as he could. “Goodness me! Jasper, you're a perfect old tiger.”
“Take care, and keep your tongue in its place then,” said Jasper, bursting into a laugh.
“And we work—oh, just dreadfully,” declared Polly with her most positive air. “We cut out all the clothes ourselves. We don't want our mothers to do it; and sew—oh dear me!”
“You ought to see our house on club day when Polly has the bee,” said Jasper. “I rather think you'd say there was something going on for those poor little Southern darkies.”
“Well, I don't see how you can work so for a lot of disgusting pickaninnies,” said Pickering, stretching his long figure lazily. “The whole bunch of them isn't worth one good solid afternoon of play.”
Polly turned a cold shoulder to him, and began to talk with Jasper most busily about the club of boys.
“Yes, and oh, Jasper, let's have one meeting of all you boys with us girls—the two clubs together,” she cried at last, waxing quite enthusiastic.
“Yes, let us,” cried Jasper, just as enthusiastic; “and oh, Polly, I've thought of something. Let's have a little play—you write it.”