“Kewpie, don’t lie, or you won’t get this!”
Kewpie grinned. “Well, I didn’t exactly forget it, maybe, but it—it sort of passed out of my mind at the moment. You understand. I really ought to go back there and pay it, Nid.”
“That’s all right. I can save you the trouble. I’m going down there myself pretty soon. How much is it?”
“Twenty cents,” faltered Kewpie.
“Fine! Then you won’t need the other thirty, old son.”
There was deep reproach in Kewpie’s face as he went out.
CHAPTER III
THE “A. R. K. P.” IS FORMED
Few customers patronized the little blue shop on Pine Street between five and six. Hillman’s discouraged the consumption of sweets so close to the school supper-hour, and, while there was no rule against it, the fellows felt themselves more or less on honor to observe the doctor’s frequently expressed wish. Neighbors ran in at intervals for a loaf of bread or cake or ten cents’ worth of whipped cream, but for the most part, as six o’clock approached, the bell tinkled infrequently. Consequently the conference held this afternoon in the Widow Deane’s sitting-room, which was also kitchen and dining-room and parlor, was almost undisturbed. The conference was participated in by four persons, Polly, Ned, Laurie, and Mae Ferrand. Mae’s presence had been unforeseen, but as she was Polly’s particular chum and, as Laurie phrased it, “one of the bunch,” it occasioned no embarrassment. Mae was about Polly’s age and perhaps a bit prettier, although, to quote Laurie again, it all depended on whether you liked light hair or dark. Mae’s hair was pure sunshine, and her skin was milk-white and rose-pink; and, which aroused Polly’s envy, she never freckled.
As the four had known each other since autumn there was no stiffness apparent in either speech or action. Ned lolled back in the comfortable old patent rocker, with his legs over one arm of it, and Laurie swung his feet from the table, secure in the knowledge that Polly’s mother was up-stairs. Laurie had a weakness for positions allowing him full liberty for his feet. Polly was talking. She and Mae, arms entwined, occupied the couch between the windows. A shining kettle on the stove hissed cozily, and a big black cat, Towser by name, purred in Ned’s lap as he scratched her head.