"Why I should say I would! Gee,
you're great too! I think I'll like you awful well when we get
acquainted."
Mickey was busy when Bruce entered, and with him was Leslie Winton. They
brought the breath of spring mellowing into summer, freighted with
emanations of real love, touched and tinctured with joy so habitual it had
become spontaneous on the part of Leslie Winton, and this morning
contagious with Douglas Bruce. Mickey stood silent, watched them closely,
and listened. So in three minutes, from ragged scraps and ejaculations
effervescing from what was running over in their brains, he knew that they
had taken an early morning plunge into Atwater, landed a black bass, had a
breakfast of their own making, at least in so far as gathering wild red
raspberries from the sand pit near the bridge; and then they had raced to
the Multiopolis station to start Mr. Winton on a trip west to try to sell
his interest in some large land holdings there, the care of which he was
finding burdensome.
"Heavens, how I hope Daddy makes that sale!" cried Leslie.
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