“Jolly hard on you to have to wear them,” said Jo sympathetically. “But perhaps you won’t have to always.”
“I hope to goodness I shan’t,” said the small boy. “A fellow does look such an ass in them. And other chaps rag you about them.” He set his teeth and looked ferocious. “That’s one of the reasons why I want to learn to box!”
“So that you can take it out of them—good idea!” agreed Jo. “Here’s Jean, all bundles. Got everything, Jean?”
“I sincerely hope so,” said her twin, who looked hot. “The shop’s crowded, and the smell of half-dead Christmas decorations is awful.” She glanced down her list. “Yes, that’s all, except the mail. Drive up, and I’ll meet you at the post-office.”
“Can’t we go somewhere and have an ice, or a drink?” suggested Rex, as they drove up the little street. “I’m awfully hot. Is there any place?”
Jo hesitated. In the old days when money had not seemed to matter, she and Jean had never failed to sample the ice-creams and other delights of hot weather supplied by the little fruit-shop. But the twins had talked this matter over, and had agreed that such luxuries must now be cut out of their programme. It was somewhat disconcerting to find that their pupil looked on them as one of the ordinary aids to existence. She temporized.
“Well—it won’t be long before we get home,” she said. “Can’t you wait?”
“Oh do let’s come—it won’t take two minutes,” Rex begged. “Look, there’s quite a jolly place over there and it’s got an ‘Ice-Cream’ sign hanging out.”
Jo yielded, with a sigh. They had agreed not to take any more pocket-money from their father, and Christmas had made a very considerable hole in their slender funds. Still, there seemed no way out. She beckoned to Jean as her twin came out of the post-office.
“Jean—take Rex across to Fielding’s, and have an ice with him.”