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"How about the western cowboy and his fancy boots?" Frank shot back over his book. "Oh, that's different," Ralph said. "Honey's right. That business of taking care of their feet symbolizes the whole sex to me. They do the things they do just because the others do them like sheep jumping over a wall. Their fad at present is pedicure. Peachy's at it just like the rest of them.
Then Honey broke into roars of delight. "Oh, you kid!" he called appreciatively to her. "She had her nerve with her to sit still all the time, knowing that we were creeping up on her, didn't she?" He turned to Ralph. But Ralph did not answer, did not hear. His face was black with rage. He shook his fist in Peachy's direction.
"Say, Honey," he said after half an hour's fidgeting, "Peachy's settled down somewhere on the island. I should say on the near shore of the lake. I don't know that anything's happened probably nothing. But I hope to God," he added savagely, "she's broken a wing. Come on and find out what she's up to, will you?" "Sure!" Honey agreed cheerfully. "All's fair in love and war.
"Now that I think of it, Angela didn't come to play with Peterkin this morning," said Clara. "Generally she comes flying over just after breakfast." "You don't suppose Peachy's ill," asked Chiquita, "or Angela." "Oh, no!" Lulu answered. "Ralph would have told one of us." "Here she comes up the trail now," Chiquita exclaimed. "Angela's with her." "Yes but what's the matter?" Lulu cried.
"And really, Honey, Peachy's in a dreadful state of nerves. Of course, she knows that Ralph is still crazy about Julia and always will be, just because Julia's like a stone to him oh, you know the kind of a man Ralph is. The only woman you can depend on him to be faithful to is the one that won't have him round. I don't think that bothers Peachy, though. She adores Julia.
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