“Please don’t throw it in the street,” said the right-hand twin earnestly.
“It is untidy to throw paper and things in the streets.”
“May’s a member of the Village Improvement Society,” explained the left-hand twin.
“Couldn’t you put it in your pocket until you get to a rubbish barrel?” asked the right-hand twin. “You’ll find one at the next corner, you know.”
“All right.” Rodney dropped the tin-foil in his pocket with a grin. “You’re a funny pair, you two.”
“So many people say that,” replied the left-hand twin with something between satisfaction and wonder. “I don’t see why, though. What is it that’s funny, please?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He hesitated. “I suppose it’s your being so much alike and――and everything. Do you live in there?” He nodded toward a white house that peeked out from over the overgrown lilac hedge.
“Yes,” replied the left-hand twin. “Our name is Binner. My name is Martha Binner and hers is Mary Binner. We’re thirteen. What’s your name?”
“I think Rodney’s a very pretty name, don’t you, May?”
“Yes. I don’t believe we have ever known a boy with that name, have we?”
“You said her name was Mary,” charged Rodney.
“It is, but she’s called May. I’m called Matty. What do they call you?”
“I don’t care for that,” said the right-hand twin judicially. “I think we’ll call him Rodney, Matty.”
The left-hand twin nodded agreement. “Are you an Academy boy?” she asked.
“I’m going to be before long. I’m on my way there now. Say, where’s Mrs. Westcott’s house?”
“Oh, are you going to be a Vest?” exclaimed Matty.
“Of course he doesn’t understand,” said May. “He wouldn’t, you know.”
“I suppose not,” replied Matty. “You see,” turning to Rodney again, “the boys at Mrs. Westcott’s are called Vests. It――it’s a pun.”
“Oh, is it?” he asked. “I don’t see any pun there.”
“You don’t? Why, Westcott――waistcoat――vest! Now do you see?”
“Perhaps,” said May, “you’d better let me explain.”
Matty nodded. “Yes, you always explain things more clearly than I do.”
“Well, Rodney, you know a vest is called a waistcoat, and――――”
“Oh, I savvy! I’d forgotten. We call them vests where I come from. So I’m a Vest, am I? Hope I’m not a fancy one! Well, I guess I’d better pull my freight.”
“Pull my freight; hit the trail; move along. Which way did you say Mrs. Westcott’s was?”
