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CHAPTER II THE SATURDAY GANG “Let me go, please!” he pleaded. “There’s a little girl, our refugee, over there, fainted, I think, perhaps—dead.” “Mebbe them new seed catalogue folks cheated us, Mar,” he suggested..
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“Right this way, ladies and gentlemen,” Bess called from the edge of the far terrace. “A dinner fit for the gods, ambrosia and nectar; gifts from Flora and Fornax! Come up to the garden of the gods and goddesses and feast together!” “I b’lieve I’ll go an’ git the warterin’ can,” announced Betty. “These pansies is orful dry, an’ even ef the sun is shinin’ on them, some warter round the roots wont hurt. You stay here, St. Elmo, an’ I’ll be back in a minute.” While the strains of this enlivening classic were issuing from the asthmatic instrument, Moses and Betty in the more secular atmosphere of the hall were trying to fit the time to “Old Dan Tucker” their favorite dance. “All right, Doc,” the other replied a bit gruffly; “suppose we catch ’em before we fight about the divvy.”.
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