Tom grinned a little, shamefacedly.
“Well—I simply yanked out that old tablet, and began at Civil War again. I said ‘As I was just saying to your mother!’ and I gave her every subject over!”
His hearers howled, and after a minute Tom himself joined in. “Did it work better this time?” asked Winona at last, wiping her eyes.
“Not a work,” said Tom cheerfully, reaching for the last cooky. “That is, all but the hat one. That was clever of you, Lou. She got almost human over that, and began to talk about how many engagements she had—had to break half of them. And I said ‘I don’t believe in breaking dates,’ and suddenly I remembered the one with you to take the pictures—and I left then and there, like a streak of lightning. I left my cane—I don’t care—she can have it to remember me by. Louise, I owe you an apology the size of the house. Why didn’t you remind me about those snapshots?”
“It’s not too late,” said Louise amiably. “The moon’s just about right, now.”
Tom went into the house after the cameras, sending his hat flying up to the hat-tree, followed by his gloves.
“Let’s go, too,” said Billy.
“All right,” said Winona. She leaned back, and laughed, as they waited for the others to come out.
“I don’t believe Tom will try any more formal calls till he’s eighteen, anyway,” she remarked.
“It seems a pity, though,” said Billy, getting up. “He wasted a perfectly good cane!”