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Bruce, Mary Grant, 1878-1958

"Mates at Billabong"


"Wish I could get the chance," said Wally, his eyes twinkling. "Think
of piloting fat old Lee Wing through a polka--he'd get so beautifully
puffed, and his pigtail would wave in the breeze, and he'd be such an
armful!"
"Do you mean to say that Chow comes, too?" queried Cecil.
"No; he's shy," Wally answered. "We've tried to get him, but in vain;
he prefers to go to bed and dream of China. And Billy hangs about like
a black ghost, but he won't come in. So we lose a lot of international
enjoyment; but, even so, what's left is pretty good, itsn't it, Norah?"
"I love it," said Norah.
"And you don't get any of your own friends to come? It seems to me the
queerest arrangement," said Cecil.
"It's the men's dance, don't you see? There wouldn't be much fun for
them if the place were filled up with our friends."
"Well, I should think a few of your own sort would be better. Aren't
there any girls or boys within reach that you know? I suppose you've a
juvenile sweetheart or two in the district?"
Norah looked at him blankly. Wally gave an expressive wriggle in his
chair, and Jim sat up suddenly, with a flush on his brown face.
"We never talk that sort of rot here," he said angrily. "Norah's not a
town girl, and her head isn't full of idiotic, silly bosh.


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