Bep nodded miserably.
"Some morning," mourned Fom, wriggling unhappily, "we'll wake and it'll be all done. You'll just have to study hard, Bessie Madigan, and be in my class in school; I won't go back into the mixed primary—I just won't! Oh, Bep, why will you put your arm around me at night?"
"I don't. I always go to sleep with my back to you. You know I do. And in the morning, the first thing I know you're flinging my arm off. I believe you pull my arm over you yourself. I believe you want to get stuck together and be Chemise Twins!" Bep scolded tearfully, with her usual ill luck with unfamiliar words.
There was a sorrow-smitten pause.
"I say, Beppy," the termination was a sign of sudden good humor in Fom, "didn't you tumble down yesterday when you and Bombey Forrest were driving the Grayson kids round the block in your relay race?"
The light of hope leaped up in Bessie's eyes. "Could it be that?"
"Of course it could; it is, you silly!"
"I'm not a silly. You were scared yourself," retorted the blonde twin, relieved but pugnacious.
"Pooh! I only pretended, to frighten you," jeered Fom.
"Not much you didn't. I ain't anybody's dope."