“What’s Mrs. Westcott like?” inquired Rodney.
Matty pursed up her lips, shot a mischievous glance at May and replied primly: “She’s very nice.”
“Oh,” said Rodney, doubtfully.
“She is just like a mother to her dear, dear boys,” chanted May gravely, her eyes fixed on space. “It’s such a happy little home!”
Rodney started perplexedly until the twins turned to regard each other seriously for an instant and then go off into a gale of laughter that threatened to shake them from their seats.
“Oh, that’s the sort,” muttered Rodney. “Well, she can’t be a mother to me! Say, what sort of a chap is Watson? Know him?”
“Guy Watson?” Matty recovered her composure and her equilibrium and frowned. “You won’t like him, I guess. We don’t, do we, May? He’s—” she paused, searching for a word—“he’s coarse!”
“And ungentlemanly,” added May, nodding decisively.
“But I suppose,” said Matty, “we should also say that he is a very good football player. And he is on the track team, too. He’s a Third Form boy. Do you know him?”
“Not very well.” Rodney smiled. “I met him on the way up here. He and three others.” Then he recounted the incident in the drug store and the twins clapped their hands with delight.