“If it isn’t doggerel, it’s real doggy,” put in Kirke, and was promptly scolded for his levity.
“We ought to take this out to the bee-ranch by to-morrow, Pauline,” said Molly, reading the composition over again after peace had been restored. “You know Kirke and Weezy and I must go back to Santa Luzia Saturday.”
“I wish I didn’t know it, Molly.”
“And in two weeks more we shall all be at home again, Pauline. I wish we could stay away till Thanksgiving.”
“Only I wouldn’t miss of being at Silver Gate City on Admission Day,” cried Paul, covering his type-writer. “The streets will be trimmed, and there’ll be arches, and bands of music, and a procession long enough to reach around a dozen squares and tie.”
“I think the street masquerade that comes off the night before Admission Day is the better fun,” returned Pauline. “I like dressing up like somebody else, and wearing a mask.”
“But I always know you, whatever you put on, my lady. You never can cheat me,” replied Paul.
“Nor you me, Twinny dear,” retorted Pauline.
When Pauline wished to tease her brother she often called him “Twinny.”
“We’ll see if I can’t cheat you this year, though, little sister,” rejoined Paul, with a sly wink at Kirke.