"Only one thing would suit you better, Heavy," declared the
sharp-featured and sharp-tongued girl sitting next to Jennie Stone. "If
only a motor could be connected to a rocking-chair--"

"Right-o!" agreed the cheerful plump girl. "And have it on a nice shady
porch. I'd like to travel that way just as well. After our experience
in France we ought to be allowed to travel in comfort for the rest of
our lives. Isn't that so, Nell? And you agree, Ruthie?"

The girl at the wheel of the flying automobile nodded only, for she
needed to keep her gaze fixed ahead. But the brown-haired, brown-eyed
girl, whose quiet face seemed rather wistful, turned to smile upon the
volatile--and voluble--Heavy Stone, so nicknamed during their early
school days at Briarwood Hall.

"Don't let's talk about it, honey," she said. "I try not to think of
what we all went through."

"And the soup I tasted!" groaned the plump one. "That diet kitchen in
Paris! I'll never get over it--never!"

"I guess _that's_ right," agreed Mercy Curtis, the sharp-featured girl.
"How that really nice Frenchman can stand for such a fat girl--"

"Why," explained Heavy calmly, "the more there is of me the more there
is for him to like." Then she giggled. "There were so few fat people
left in Europe after four years of war that everybody liked to look at
me."