Betsy looked at them grimly
with unseeing eyes. It was four o'clock. The last train for Hillsboro
left in two hours and she was no nearer having the price of the tickets.
She stopped for a moment to get her breath; for, although they were
walking slowly, she kept feeling breathless and choked. It occurred to
her that if ever a little girl had had a more horrible birthday she
never heard of one!
"Oh, I wish I could, Dan!" said a young voice near her. "But honest!
Momma'd just eat me up alive if I left the booth for a minute!"
Betsy turned quickly. A very pretty girl with yellow hair and blue eyes
(she looked as Molly might when she was grown up) was leaning over the
edge of a little canvas-covered booth, the sign of which announced that
home-made doughnuts and soft drinks were for sale there. A young man,
very flushed and gay, was pulling at the girl's blue gingham sleeve.
"Oh, come on, Annie. Just one turn! The floor's elegant. You can keep an
eye on the booth from the hall! Nobody's going to run away with the old
thing anyhow!''
"Honest, I'd love to! But I got a great lot of dishes to wash, too! You
know Momma!" She looked longingly toward the open-air dancing floor, out
from which just then floated a burst of brazen music.
"Oh, PLEASE!" said a small voice. "I'll do it for twenty cents."
Betsy stood by the girl's elbow, all quivering earnestness.
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