I'm likely to have hay in my ears for months to come.

Dick Whittington," explained Philip, patting the dog, "is a mustard-colored orphan I picked up a couple of days ago.

He'd made a vow to gyrate steadily in a whirlwind of dust after a hermit flea who lived on the end of his tail, until somebody adopted him and--er--cut off the grasping hermit.

I fell for him, but, like Ras, a sleep bug seems to have bitten him." "Most likely he unwinds in his sleep," suggested Diane politely.

And added, acidly, "Where are you going ?' "Florida!" said Philip amiably.
The girl stared at him with dark, accusing eyes.
"The trip is really no safer now," reminded Philip steadily, "than it was when I left camp." "In a huff!" flashed Diane disparagingly.
"In a huff," admitted Philip and dismissed the dangerous topic with a philosophic shrug.
"I won't have you trailing after me on a hay-wagon!" exclaimed Diane in honest indignation.
"Hum! Just how," begged Philip, "does one go about effecting a national ordinance to keep hay-carts off the highway ?" As Philip betokened an immediate desire to name over certain rights with which he was vested as a citizen of the United States, Diane was more than willing to change the subject.