“Joe,” he said, carelessly, “I’ve been thinking about painting this place and I sort of guess that maybe it ought to be green, like you said. You see——”
“Green nothing!” exclaimed the other. “Where do you get that stuff? Red’s the only color. Now look here——”
“I’m thinking maybe red would be too—too bright——”
“Not a bit of it! We’ll want to come here in the winter, and we’ll want it to look—er—cheerful——”
“Yes, but in the summer, green——”
“No, sir, it’s going to be red,” declared Joe heatedly.
“Well,” laughed Philip, “I guess there’s no sense having another quarrel about it! We’ll paint it red. Now let’s get the things washed up and put the place neat for the housewarming.”
It was Friday afternoon that Philip and Joe met Pete Brooks on Common Street. Joe was for going by with his usual curt nod, but Philip stopped and greeted their quasi enemy affably.
“Say, Pete, we’re going to have a sort of shindig out at the camp to-morrow afternoon. About a dozen of us, you know. Going to have supper and hang around awhile in the evening. Glad to have you come if you can.”