"
"You're ready to sketch anybody that comes along, seems to me,"
observed Bill. "Isn't this Miss Fairfield's turn?"
"I expect she's about tired of holding her pose," said the artist.
"I'll give her a rest, and make a lightning sketch of you two.
Baby's mother may like to have it."
"Oh, give it to me!" begged Patty. "I'd love to have a picture of
Baby May."
"But there'll be so much more of me in it than Baby May," said
Bill, gravely.
"Never mind," laughed Patty. "I shan't object to your presence
there. Now, I'll run away while you pose, for I MIGHT make you
laugh at the wrong time."
"Don't go," pleaded Bill, but Patty had already gone.
"What a beautiful thing she is," said Cromer, as he worked away at
his sketch-block. He spoke quite as if referring to some inanimate
object, for he looked at Patty only with an artist's eye.
"She is," agreed Bill. "She's all of that, and then some. She'll
make a perfect Spirit of the Sea. I say, Cromer, help me rig up my
Neptune togs, will you?"
"Of course I will, old chap. But Miss Fairfield isn't going to be
on your float. She's agreed to be my Maid of the Mist."
"She HAS! I say, Cromer, that's too bad of you! How did you
persuade her to change her plan?"
"She didn't change.
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