“That’s too bad,” said Roy. “Can’t you fix it to go later?”
Harry shook her head. “No, she goes to the seashore in August, you see. I think it’s just too mean for anything; and I know you will just have lovely times. I—I hope papa won’t let you do it!”
“Well!” ejaculated Chub. “Of all dogs in the manger that I ever met, Harry, you take the prize!”
“Well, I just do,” muttered Harry, rebelliously; “and I’m going to tell him not to!”
Chub and Dick viewed her anxiously, but Roy only smiled.
“We’re not afraid of that, Harry,” he said.
She looked at him a moment frowningly, then sighed and smiled as she said plaintively:
“Well, I don’t care, Roy Porter, I think it’s awfully mean! Maybe I won’t ever see you and Chub again, and just when I might be with you I have to go away. And I don’t have any fun at Aunt Harriet’s, anyway; it’s too stupid for anything!”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry yet,” said Roy, “because, maybe it will all fall through. You heard what Chub said about getting permission, and, of course, if he can’t stay we won’t; it wouldn’t be any fun for just two fellows.”