Betty looked with interest at the neat houses they were passing. The names of the officers were conspicuously tacked on the doorsteps, and there was a general air of orderliness and military spic and spanness about the very gravel roads. Occasionally a dust-colored car shot past them filled with men in uniform.
"Do you ride?" asked Betty suddenly. "Uncle Dick has always wanted me to learn, but I've never had a good chance."
"Well, you can begin to-morrow morning," Bobby informed her. "We've three ponies that are fine under the saddle. Betty, I do wish you'd make up your mind to live in Washington this winter. There's no reason in the world why you shouldn't, and we were talking it over last night, making plans for you."
"Why! that's entirely as Uncle Dick says," returned Betty, surprised. "I haven't any say in the matter."
Bobby shot a triumphant glance toward the other girls.
"He said he hadn't much right to dictate, but I told him I knew better," she said with satisfaction. "He wants you as much as we do, and that's considerable, you know."
Again a wave of doubt swept over Betty. Uncle Dick had said he had not much right to dictate! When he was her only living relative!
"Uncle hasn't a fever or anything, has he?" she asked apprehensively. "I mean the injury to his foot hasn't, it didn't—" she floundered.
"Oh, that old hurt to his head never amounted to anything," declared Bobby with convincing carelessness. "No, indeed, he's perfectly well except for the crutches, and the doctor says keeping him indoors for a few days will give him a much-needed rest."
Betty recalled the accident in which her uncle had been stunned when he had slipped down a bank into an excavation made along a road on which they had been driving. Bobby evidently referred to that old injury.