Myra turned to Tabitha with a comical grimace, and said, "What did I tell you? Hurry's the word."
Then a babel of voices broke loose, all laughing and talking at once, and in triumph Tabitha and Gloriana were escorted to Ivy Hall Camp.
CHAPTER XV
MYRA'S CLIMAX
"Well, vacation is over, and we had just begun having a good time," sighed Tabitha mournfully, drawing back the curtains and peering out of the window that September morning into the gray fog of early dawn. "It doesn't seem possible that we are back in Los Angeles again. I 'most wish we had stayed at Catalina for this last day."
The Catalina campers, after a delightful two weeks' outing on the Island, had returned to mainland the day before; but as Ivy Hall had not yet opened its doors to its pupils, and most of the girls lived in neighboring towns, Myra Haskell had invited them to spend the night with her at her aunt's house. The aunt, Mrs. Cummings, was herself away on a brief vacation, but had given her harum-scarum niece permission to take possession of her pretty bungalow for the two nights the party would be in Los Angeles before school commenced. So, as the gray day dawned, it found a dozen mummy-like figures stretched about the floor of the great living-room, wrapped in blankets and quilts, and snoring blissfully.
This was the audience which Tabitha addressed, but she did not realize that she had spoken her thoughts aloud, and was startled when Myra, without opening her eyes, grunted, "Huh! You'll sing another tune before night. This is to be the gala day of your life. You will never forget it. When Dad starts out to do a thing, he never stops half way. The only trouble is to get him started."
"I didn't mean to grumble, truly," cried Tabitha, dismayed at having had her ungracious complaint overheard by her young hostess. "It is just grand of your family to invite all of us out to your ranch for the day, but I believe it's going to rain. It certainly looks like it. You could cut the fog with a knife."
"Whist! my young friend," murmured Gwynne, wakened from her slumbers by the sound of voices in the room. "Don't be so pessimistic. Don't you know it never rains in California? At least not in the summer time." For from the opposite corner of the room someone had sleepily murmured, "What about the ostriches?" and the whole company laughed reminiscently, recalling that Thanksgiving night when the storm had frightened the ostriches at the Park until they broke loose and created a panic among the returning theatre-goers.