“Harry’s a patron of the arts,” laughed Roy. “She won’t look at us pretty soon.”
“I,” declared Chub, “shall learn to sculp.”
“Learn what?” asked Roy.
“Learn to sculp; to be a sculptor, you ninny. That’s an art, isn’t it?”
“Not the way you’d do it,” answered Roy unkindly. “It would be a crime. Say, I thought you said Billy wouldn’t accept for Thursday.”
“I didn’t say he wouldn’t accept,” Chub replied. “I said I didn’t think he’d be able to.”
“Well, what’s the difference?” asked Dick jeeringly.
“If you don’t know I shan’t tell you,” answered Chub with intense dignity. “Come on and get the canoe, Roy. This young artist’s model must go home and get her beauty-sleep.”
Harry, who for several minutes had been sitting chin in hand staring into the fire, roused herself.