If a
man's sufficiently erratic to blow a tin whistle all the way to
Florida--as Philip certainly is--and maroon himself on somebody else's
lake for fear he'd miss an acquaintance, he'd very likely fly into a
rage when one least expected it and go tramping off in the night. I do
dislike people who fall into huffs about nothing."
Diane burned her fingers again, felt that the fire was unnecessarily
hot upon her face, and indignantly resigning the preparation of
breakfast to Johnny, went fishing.
"He should have gone long ago," mused Diane, flinging her line with
considerable force into the river. "It's a great mercy as it is that
Aunt Agatha didn't appear and weep all over the camp about him. I'm
sorry I mended the shirt. Not but that I was fortunate to find
something that would make him go, but a shirt's such a childish thing
to fuss about. And, anyway, I preferred him to leave in a friendly,
conventional sort of way!"
There are times, alas, when even fish are perverse! Thoroughly out of
patience, Diane presently unjointed her rod, emptied the can of worms
upon the bank, and returned to camp, where she found Johnny
industriously piling up a heap of litter.
"What are you going to do with these?" demanded Diane, indicating an
eccentric woodland broom and a rake of forked twigs and twine.
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