“Anyway, we’re going to have two quarts of ice cream,” said Pee-wee, too honest to let himself be deceived about his outlandish contribution to the pageant.
“There’s just a perfect army of city people coming up to-night,” Hope said; “and we’re just going to be packed like sardines. Everett wanted me to ride in his car with him—”
“It isn’t a car, it’s a Ford,” said Pee-wee.
“You’re horrid! But I was afraid I’d be just jounced to death and would be all tired out for to-night. You know we’re going to have a dance at the house to-night. And I’ll let you into a little secret too. You know those two perfectly lovely fellows that are coming up—from Hydome University? Mr. Skimper is going to have them represent us in the tennis match and they’re experts, they’ve both won prizes. Just imagine! And the Hotel Packem thinks their team is going to win! Isn’t it excruciating? Oh, you must surely come and see us win!”
If the sign on Pee-wee’s lumbering vehicle made Hope homesick, it had quite a different effect upon the joyous, flippant rabble. It was the one, conspicuous, outstanding feature of Pee-wee’s outfit and it aroused unholy mirth on every hand. This was especially so as the other floats and marching units passed it to form in line.
“Hey, sign, where are you going with the wagon?” called one of the summer wits.
“Hey float, where are you going with the fool?” Pee-wee promptly retorted. He was the equal of any at this kind of thing. He sat on the peak of his roof, ready to meet all comers.
“Is that sign meant to cover the wagon or is it meant to cover the farm?” another joker shouted, and several girls carolled forth their appreciation of his wit.
“It’s meant to cover your mouth only it isn’t big enough,” Pee-wee roared.
“Where the dickens is Goodale Manor Farm?” someone queried.