Jim was a ringleader in that family circle, and the younger Croxsons took their departure with sullen faces, which looked as though they had spent more time in the weary activity of scaring up something to eat, than in the more passive and beneficial process of eating. Regie stood looking after them.
“I call that pretty mean,” he said, angrily, “and it shows just how much they know about it.”
“Mean!” muttered Nan, with her little lips pressed tightly together; “I would just like to see that Jim Croxson come up with.”
Nan did not know exactly what was involved in this proceeding of being “come up with,” but she had an idea that it was just about the most dreadful thing that could happen to anybody. Harry stood non-committal. Of course he thought it was very foolish for the Croxsons to go off like that; but he would himself see the thing through before expressing an opinion. If Regie said something more was needing to be done, he supposed he must believe him; but it certainly seemed, if a picture was taken, it was taken, and he ought to be able to show something for it.
“Say, Harry,” asked Regie, as they walked home, “isn't there a big dark closet up in the attic?”
“Yes, as dark as Egypt.”
“Well, then, we'll go up there to develop the pictures. I'd like to have you and Nan see me do it. Is the closet large enough for three?”