"Oh, I was thinking. Something about my party. I'll tell you--later."
Beryl stared at Robin a little suspiciously--Robin looked queer,
all-tight-inside, as though she'd made up her mind to do something. It
was the new Robin again. Oh, well, if she didn't want to tell--
After luncheon Robin donned her warm outer garments and slipped out of
the house while Beryl was practicing. To carry out her plan, now fully
grown, she must send a telegram and see Mrs. Lynch.
Two hours later, flushed and excited, she hunted down Mrs. Budge, whom
she found mixing savory concoctions in a huge bowl.
"M'm, how good things smell," she began, to break down the hostility she
saw in Budge's eye, "Is that for the party?"
"'S going to be," and Budge stirred more vigorously than ever.
"Mrs. Budge, will there be enough food for--some extra ones--I've
invited or I'm--going to invite?"
Budge dropped her spoon. "Well, no one ever went hungry in _this_
house," she answered crisply. "May I ask who _your_ guests are?" Budge
permitted herself the pleasure of a meaning inflection on the "your."
"Well, I'm not quite sure--yet, only I wanted to know about the food--"
Robin retreated step by step toward the door, her limp exaggerated by
the movement.
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