Vinnie found it impossible to resist Gussie Turner; and although she still maintained her humped-up position, her face gave token that the war cloud was almost if not quite dispelled.
"It's about my birthday," said Vinnie.
"What? Wish you'd never been born?" inquired Gussie, with a comically anxious expression. "Dear me!"
"No," said Vinnie, clasping her knees with her hands, "not so bad as that; but I do wish I had been born in the winter."
"Why?" asked Gussie, fanning herself with her hat.
"Well, because I might have had a party then, and music and ice-cream and all the nice things that other girls have. I think it mean to be born in the summer, when it's too hot to do anything, and lots of folks are away."
"Except mosquitoes," said Gussie, striking Vinnie a blow on the shoulder that would have killed a mosquito as large as a grasshopper. It had the effect of rousing Vinnie from her attack of the doldrums; and although she was rather inclined to be angry and resentful, she was soon restored to a more peaceful frame of mind.
"It was a mosquito, really," said Gussie; "but I didn't mean to hit him so hard."
"Hit him?" said Vinnie, rubbing her shoulder. "Hit her, I should say."
"Yes, the females do all the biting," said Gussie, "and that's all I know about them. My birthday is in December," she continued, as if there had been no interruption in the discourse.