“Phil, what should you and Ted do if you were suddenly called upon to support your sisters and me?” asked Mrs. Porter, as her family were finishing their supper.
“Play ball,” declared Phil.
“Be an aviator,” announced his brother.
“You might have known what their answers would be, Momsy, without asking,” exclaimed Sallie, with disgust. “Ever since Phil was elected captain of his school nine all he can think of is ‘play ball.’”
“Yes, and Ted’s just as absorbed in that old machine he is building—as if he could build anything that would fly,” interposed Margie.
“I tell you it can fly, Miss Smarty. It rose more than a foot from the ground and kept up for its whole length last week,” retorted Ted.
“That wasn’t flying, it was the shock caused by my lending you my week’s allowance,” retaliated Margie.
“You said you wouldn’t mention that, and anyway, I didn’t promise to pay it back until next month.”
“I’m sorry, Ted. That slipped out without my thinking. Do you suppose your machine would fly twice its length if I loaned you this week’s money?”
“Goody, sis, will you?”