“Anything else you can do better than a girl?” she jeered, good-naturedly.
“Try a mile with this can and see where you come out in the race.”
“Why have you been away out in the country for milk?”
“This milk happens to be cream. I’ve been wondering what kind of a dessert will take all this.”
Jean hid a queer little smile that she could not repress.
“I’ll wrestle with you first chance,” he challenged; “but you wouldn’t have any show, your dress is so long. Why do you have ’em so?”
Jean’s face fell, and she didn’t look at Billy when she spoke. “My mother says I mustn’t wrestle any more.”
“Why, I wonder? She used to watch us at it and laugh.”
“Yes; but—oh, Billy, it’s awful to have to grow up and be proper. I begged mamma not to put my dresses down, but I’m past thirteen, and big as she is. And—”
“That’s no giant. She isn’t bigger’n a kid. Will she let you come to play? The Gang’s coming to-morrow.”