Saturday morning found them on their way to the mansion. It was a crisp, fall day, the first really cold one of the season. Madge’s eyes were very bright and she was so gay that she fairly skipped along the street.
“What ails you?” Cara demanded. Then as she noticed a white envelope protruding from her friend’s sweater pocket: “Ha! I’ll bet a cent it’s from that ranger of yours up at Loon Lake! He writes you twice a week, doesn’t he?”
“He does not!” Madge denied, blushing furiously. “Jack has more important things to do than write letters.”
“Oh, you needn’t pretend, Madge Sterling. You know you like him. That’s why you’ll not even look at any of the boys here in Claymore.”
“Certainly I like Jack. Why shouldn’t I? He’s a good friend and—”
She looked somewhat nettled as Cara burst forth in a gale of exaggerated laughter.
“All right, laugh! But unless I’m most horribly mistaken I saw you in Rexall’s Drug Store last night lapping up a soda and listening moon-eyed while Fred King gave a running report of last week’s football game. You—who can’t be dragged near the stadium!”
“I only try to be a polite listener,” Cara said cheerfully. “Let’s call it quits.”
They smiled, and linking arms, hurried on to the mansion. Miss Swenster was delighted to see them again for she had begun to fear that she had offended them during their last visit.
“I’m so glad you came,” she greeted them. “After today, everything will be turned topsy-turvy since the furniture must be arranged for the sale.”