"All right," he sang out. "Left hand or right, Betty?
It makes no difference to me. Now for the moon."
"Look out, Allen, you are getting poetical," warned Betty, as she dipped
her paddle into the clear water. "Many a man has reached for the moon,
only to find that he had plucked some green cheese."
"Are you sure it wasn't limburger?" asked Frank, mildly for so strong a
subject.
"Ugh, don't!" cried Grace. "How I hate even the name of the horrid
stuff!"
"And on a night like this, too," said Betty. "Can't we talk about
something less odoriferous?"
"Remember you started it," said Frank defensively.
"Yes, I know, but what I spoke of is such a wee little cousin to----"
"Is that the dipper up there, Frank?" Grace asked, in haste to change
the subject. "Somehow it doesn't look natural."
Frank squinted aloft. "That's our same old friend," he said. "By the
way, speaking of dippers, I am getting thirsty."
"Well, I can't give you a drink, but I can feed you. Have a chocolate?"
cried Grace.
"Oh, Grace!" protested Betty, "you never brought chocolates along?"
"To be sure I did.
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