“Bless my stars, if there isn’t the team!” he exclaimed, “well my little girl, good-bye for the present, you will see us both this evening,” and having given Miss Gladden a promise that neither he nor his son would betray her secret, he hastened down the road to the waiting team.
“Well, boys,” he said, stopping to carefully empty the ashes from his pipe on a projecting ledge of rock, “I will have to give you credit for being on hand very promptly; that was about the shortest half hour that I can remember.”
A loud, ringing laugh greeted this remark, which caused Mr. Winters, who was replacing his pipe in its case, to look up in mild wonder.
“That’s one on you, father,” called his son, while Mr. Blaisdell remarked, “The time evidently has passed very pleasantly.”
“What is the origin of all this mirth?” demanded Mr. Winters, as he seated himself with considerable dignity.
“It seems,” said Mr. Rivers, in explanation, “to be because you were so unconscious of the lapse of time; we were delayed in getting together our papers, and it is over an hour since we left the house.”
“I looked for you at every turn of the road,” said his son.
“I didn’t,” said Van Dorn, “I thought he had fallen asleep over his pipe; I never dreamed he was disgracing the whole crowd of us by such open flirtation as that,––I wish we had brought along a chaperon.”
“Well, gentlemen,” said Mr. Winters very deliberately, “all I have to say is, that had you been in my place, the time would have seemed equally short to you, and I don’t think there’s one of you but would have been mighty glad to have been in my place.”
“Mr. Winters,” said Mr. Blaisdell, “I begin to think you’re the youngest man of our party.”