"Oh, Marie, don't!" begged the other, with real concern. "Suppose
somebody sees you!"
"I don't care if they do. And I _hate_ that name,--Marie!" choked the
crying girl, desperately. "I won't answer to it an--any more--so now! I
want my own na--name."
"Oh, dear, Celia! don't be a baby."
"I--I don't care if I _am_ a baby. I'm hun--hun--hungry."
"Well, we'll buy some more cakes."
"You can't--you shouldn't," sobbed the other, weakly. "I haven't any more
money at all, and you have less than a dollar."
Nan had heard enough. She did not care what these girls thought of her;
they should not escape. She planted herself right before the two startled
strangers and cried:
"You foolish, foolish things! You are starving for greasy baker's cakes,
when your fathers and mothers at home are just sitting down to lovely
sliced ham and brown bread and biscuit and homemade preserves and
cake--_and plenty of it all_! Sallie Morton and Celia Snubbins, I think
you are two of the most foolish girls I ever heard of!"
The crying girl stopped in surprise. The other tried to assume a very
scornful air.
"Haven't you made a mistake, Miss?" she said. "My name is Lola Montague
and my friend is Miss Marie Fortesque."
"Sure they are," said the excited Nan. "I know they are your names, for
you chose them yourselves.
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