"Jack's fine as silk, couldn't stand the Stony Road pace, I guess! Fact is, I haven't seen him for six weeks. He's never in his father's store; must be out of town."
"Gee up!" interposed Mat. "If I didn't keep up a perpetual song, I believe Old Hurricane'd stop still and never go on again; can easily see he used to be a race horse!"
"Yes, he always raced the last few yards home for his grub!"
"He's doing splendiferous. Only for him we wouldn't be here, so don't spurn the ladder by which we climb," cried Ivy.
"Well, he'd make a better ladder than anything else, he's so bony; besides that he'd rather stand still any day and let us climb him!"
"You ungrateful Mat! But, Oh, girls and boys, to sit and let the air blow upon us, and feast our eyes on the glorious sunrise and the lovely green fields and flowers! The air is like champagne I tasted once, kind of thin and clear and nippy and refreshing!"
"If I knew you were a boozer, Miss Bonner, nothing would have induced me to undertake the management of this nervous racer. If the air brings on an attack of the delirium tremenjous, how can I manage the two of you?"
"Just manage your own tongue, Mr. Lee, but that would be an impossibility," said Ivy.
"Talking of wine and things reminds me of Claude," said Laura. "I overtook him coming down street the other day and we walked together. He stopped to peer in at the bars of the jail. 'I'd hate to be put in a stall like the poor drunkards.' (He called them Dunkards.) 'And I'm sure you never will, Claude,' said I. He threw back his shoulders and said, 'Well, I drank root-beer till I was six years old and then swore off and haven't drank a drop since!' I could have screeched!"
Hugh laughed heartily.