“That isn’t what I told you to say!” she broke in, sternly. “Say it now. Slowly. ‘I promise to—’—Say it!”
“I promise to—” he repeated in resignation.
“Come to the Antlers for a fortnight this summer. Say it!”
“Come to the Antlers for a fortnight this summer,” he groaned, “Lord! What’ll my work do, while I—?”
“Now see how nice you are!” exulted Desirée, “You’re being good at last. Don’t you feel happier now you’ve stopped being bad and obstinate? Say so!”
“Does it make you happier?” he evaded.
“Of course it does. But,” she added, paying truth its strict due, “of course I knew you were coming anyhow. Now let’s talk about it.”
“But say,” he protested, “S’pose you an’ your aunt run down to Coney Island or Atlantic City after you leave the Adirondacks; an’ let me come down there instead? There’s lots of fun to be had at those places. But what can I do up in the woods? Just measly trees an’ sky an’ water; an’ not even a Loop the Loop or a music hall, I s’pose. Gee! It’s too slow for my taste.”
“Then it is my mission to improve your taste,” she insisted, frowning down his amendment as unworthy of note, “Don’t you want to like the things I like?”
“Yes,” he answered, obediently.