Sherwood and caused him so much trouble, recovered nothing--not even his
lost temper.
"Which must be a good thing," was Bess Harley's comment. "For if I had a
temper like his, I'd want to lose it--and for good and all!"
"But there must be some good in that fat man," Nan said, reflectively.
"Humph! Now find some excuse for _him_, Nan Sherwood!" said her chum.
"No. Not an excuse. He maligned Papa Sherwood and I can't forgive him.
But his little boy thinks the world of him, I can see; and Mr. Bulson is
very fond of the little boy--'Junior,' as he calls him."
"Well," quoth Bess, "so does a tiger-cat love its kittens. He's a gouty,
grumpy old fellow, with an in-growing grouch. I couldn't see a mite of
good in him with a spyglass."
Her chum laughed heartily at that statement. "Well, let us hope he will
keep so far away from us after this that we will have to use a spyglass
to see him at all."
"And there's another person who can stay away from us," said Bess,
suddenly.
"Who's that?" queried Nan, looking up at the change in Bess' voice.
"Linda Riggs. She's coming this way," Bess said, tartly.
This conversation occurred in the skating rink, and while Nan was having
her skates strapped on by an attendant, for Walter Mason was not at the
moment in sight.
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