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“Good afternoon, Johnny Blossom.” At home that day they had been baking the Christmas cakes. Johnny Blossom had eaten not a little of the raw dough, and his sister Asta and he had made some cakes of remarkable shapes (though rather dingy from much handling), which they were allowed to bake. “That part’s all right. The Chief is bully, but—”.
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“Hello, Bob,” was his greeting. “Just got back from up river. Rutherford had me measuring the elevation of all the anthills from here to Canada.” “What do you mean? Are we going to swim the rest of the way?” “I don’t know,” hesitated the other after a pause. “I reckon it’s mighty kiddish of me but—but I just can’t help it.” How awfully good to him this man was! Johnny would like to ask him to take his greeting to those two boys. So Johnny pointed to the picture over the hammock, then to himself, and then far out over the sea, with his little arm stretched at full length. There! the man must surely understand anything as plain as that..
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