“Gosh, I am listening! But I don’t hear anything but piffle, and—”
“It isn’t piffle, you stubborn chump. Some one’s got to do something, haven’t they? You don’t want to see that poor old lady dumped right out on the sidewalk, do you? At her age? Nearly—” Laurie stifled “ninety” and substituted “eighty.” “Gee, I supposed you’d be glad to help, instead of—of throwing obstacles in the way. Gee, supposing she was your aunt or—or something—”
“She isn’t,” said Ned briefly.
“Well, she might be. If she was—”
“I guess she’s somebody’s aunt,” said Bob feelingly.
“Oh, shut up! I’d like to help her, of course, you idiots, but I don’t see where we have any right to butt in and—”
“That’s what I’m trying to explain to you,” interrupted Laurie. “If you’ll just listen a minute—”
Ten minutes later Ned capitulated. Two minutes after that the three boys were busy concocting a telegram to send to Mr. Goupil in Sioux City, Iowa. It was decided that each should compose what he considered the proper message and that they would subsequently write a fourth draft comprised of the best points of each. So they each set to work with pencil and paper and furrowed brows, and for several minutes all was very still in No. 16, East Hall. Having given the matter some previous thought, Laurie naturally finished first. Then Bob’s composition was laid on the desk, and finally, considerably later, Ned’s.
Laurie read them aloud, Bob’s first. Bob’s was as follows:
“A. G. Goupil,
“Goupil Machinery Co.,
“Sioux City, Iowa.