“Admiringly,” interposed Barret.
“Not so—earnestly, as if getting a lesson,” said Milly, with a teacher’s severity; “and Flo will sit thus, at my feet, taking care (hold it, dear,) of my palette.”
“More likely to make a mess of it,” said Junkie.
“Now, are you ready? Steady! Don’t budge a finger,” cried Archie, removing the little leather cap.
In her uncertainty as to which of her fingers she was not to budge, Flo nervously moved them all.
“You’re movin’, Flo!” whispered Junkie.
“No, I’m not,” said Flo, looking round indignantly.
“There, I knew you couldn’t hold your tongue, Junkie,” cried the photographer, hastily replacing the cap. “However, I think I had it done before she moved.”
“And look—you’ve got the nigger in!” cried Junkie, snatching up the black doll, which had been lying unobserved on its owner’s knee all the time.
“Never mind, that’ll do no harm. Now, then, soldiers, form up, an’ quick march,” said Archie, closing up his apparatus. “We have got plenty of work before us, and no time to waste.”