put it to bed at night, and wake it up next morning and dress it—”
“I say, old thing,” I said, “I don’t want to hurry you and all that, but you couldn’t condense it a bit, could you? I’m rather anxious to see the finish of this race. The Wooster fortunes are by way of hanging on it.”
“I’m going to run in a race soon,” she said, shelving the doll for the nonce and descending to ordinary chitchat.
“Yes?” I said. Distrait, if you know what I mean, and trying to peer through the chinks in the crowd. “What race is that?”
“Egg ’n Spoon.”
“No, really? Are you Sarah Mills?”
“Na-ow!” Registering scorn. “I’m Prudence Baxter.”
Naturally this put our relations on a different footing. I gazed at her with considerable interest. One of the stable. I must say she didn’t look much of a flier. She was short and round. Bit out of condition, I thought.
“I say,” I said, “that being so, you mustn’t dash about in the hot sun and take the edge off yourself. You must conserve your energies, old friend. Sit down here in the shade.”
“Don’t want to sit down.”
“Well, take it easy, anyhow.”
The kid flitted to another topic like a butterfly hovering from flower to flower.
“I’m a good girl,” she said.
“I bet you are. I hope you’re a good egg-and-spoon racer, too.”