You're the only one except Mother
and Louise who ever inspired me to get down to business."
Linda laid her palm on the top of the sand heap and pressed it
flat. She looked at Donald with laughing eyes.
"Symbolical," she announced. "That sand was the Jap." She
stretched her hand toward him. "That was you. Did you see
yourself squash him?"
Donald's laugh was grim.
"Yes, I saw," he said. "I wish it were as easy as that."
"That was not easy," said Linda; "make a mental computation of
all the seconds that it took me to erect that pyramid and all the
millions of grains of sand I had to gather."
Donald was deeply thoughtful, yet a half smile was playing round
his lips.
"Of all the queer girls I ever knew, you're the cap sheaf,
Linda," he said.
Linda rose slowly, shook the sand from her breeches and stretched
out her hand.
"Let's hotfoot it down to the African village and see what the
movies are doing that is interesting today," she proposed.
CHAPTER XXI. Shifting the Responsibility
On her pillow that night before dropping to almost instantaneous
sleep Linda reflected that if you could not ride the King's
Highway, racing the sands of Santa Monica was a very excellent
substitute. It had been a wonderful day after all. When she had
left Donald at the Lilac Valley end of the car line he had held
her hand tight an instant and looked into her face with the most
engaging of clear, boyish smiles.
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