"There you go again, or rather also," flung back the stout girl. "I
must take all the cracks and the chuckles and presently some naive
little freshie will amble along and ask me if I happen to be one of
the soap bubbles she just blew off her penny pipe," and the
pneumatic cheeks puffed out in bubble mockery.

"Now Teddy dear. Don't fret. Everyone is just jealous because you're
so lovely and comfy looking," appeased Nettie Brocton, the dimple
girl. "But I really do think this 'whisper' is awfully childish.
Rather makes the strangers feel we are whispering about them."

"If they only knew!" sighed Ted. "I am the usual back-stop for all
frivolity. But if it comes to giving up this lovely loafing hour
under our own grandmother poplar, I say girls, go ahead and knock,
but spare the whisper. I'd die if I had to go tramping around seeing
things and saying hello to that mob," with a sweeping wave of her
one free arm, the other was around Janet Clarke's waist.

"You are right, little girl, it is lovely to gather here and let the
others do the traipsing. And as for the whisper, anyone within sight
may also hear, for this is a shout rather than a whisper. The real
point is, we are gathered together while others are scattered apart.
But where is Jane Allen? I always look to her to start things, and
we can't stay here all day, alluring as is the grandmother poplar.
We have 'juties'; girls, 'juties'. "Dozia Dalton had risen to her
full height, which measured more feet and inches than her latest
kitchen door records verified, and her hair now wound around her
head like a big brown braided coffee cake, added a few more inches,
in spite of all the flat pinning Dozia took refuge in. It may be
attractive to be tall and slender, but somehow old Dame Nature has a