“I bet your float hasn’t got a sign on it as big as this one,” Pee-wee said, seizing upon the most conspicuous feature of the float and hurling it, as it were, as a sort of bomb.
Hope looked ruefully at the enormous sign as Braggen read the words aloud. She caught the note of ridicule in his voice and seemed to join him in his implied derision.
“Goodale Manor Farm” he read. “Wherever you go around this neighborhood you find manners—Snailsdale Manor, Goodale Manor—”
“It’s a wonder you don’t have some yourself,” Pee-wee vociferated.
“Oh, aren’t you perfectly horrible!” Hope said. But Braggen only laughed.
“Are there many boys at the Snailsdale House?” Hope asked. “And girls,” she added, to make her query seem less brazen.
“Oh, a couple of guys beside myself,” said Braggen, pinching the treasured crease in one trouser leg and giving it a little hitch. “One of ’em’s got a kid sister about fourteen. We’re a pretty lively bunch. There are a couple of chaps from Hydome University coming up pretty soon—”
“College boys?” Hope asked excitedly.
“Tennis sharks,” Braggen said; “do you go in for tennis much?”
“Oh, I just love it.”