“Two dozen humble, necessary rolls,” said Winnie, “and salt. I had to buy a knife, because Tom lost his yesterday. He loses it regularly, once a week.”
“Pity he picked out to-day,” commented Helen as they fell into step. “Do you suppose we’ll be late?”
“Mercy, no!” said Winnie, “We’re more likely to be the first!”
“We won’t be”—and Helen laughed—“Louise is always the earliest everywhere. She says she’s lost more perfectly good time being punctual than any other way she knows.”
“Well, we’ll be ahead of Edith, anyway,” Winnie remarked cheerfully. She adjusted the two dozen rolls more easily, for that many rolls, when you have far to carry them, have a way of feeling lumpy.
“It’s a good thing it isn’t far to the trolley!” said Helen. “I didn’t know how nubbly this bacon was going to be.”
“So are my rolls! Let’s trade,” suggested Winnie brilliantly.
“Almost human intelligence!” gibed Helen; so they traded, and each found her load much more comfortable than the one she’d had before—which says a good deal for the powers of imagination.
“Don’t let’s sit up on the benches of that trolley-station—they’re the most uncomfortable things in town!” objected Winnie. “Come on, Helen. Let’s be real sports, and sit on the grass.”
“I do believe we’re the first!” was Helen’s sole reply, as she eyed the little trolley-station worriedly.