“Oh, dear! do you suppose he was Curly?”
“I don’t know. I must write to Mrs. Smith as soon as we get to the hotel.”
The chums had traveled considerably by land, and had ventured into more than one hotel; but never alone. When they had gone to Montana to visit Ann Hicks, Ann’s Uncle Bill had been with them and had looked after the transportation matters. And in going into the Adirondacks they had traveled in a private car.
The porter took them immediately to a reception parlor, and took Mrs. Parson’s card that she had given Ruth to the hotel manager. The manager came himself to greet the girls. Mrs. Parsons’ name was evidently well known at this hotel.
“At this time of year there is a choice of rooms at your disposal,” he said. “I will show you the suite Mrs. Parsons usually has; but if the rooms assigned you are not satisfactory, we can accommodate you elsewhere.”
As they went up to the rooms Helen whispered: “Don’t you feel kind of bridey?”
“Kind of what?” gasped her chum.
“Why, as though you were on your bridal tour?” said Helen. “We’ve got on brand new clothes, and everybody treats us as though we were queens.”
“Maybe you feel that you are a queen,” giggled Ruth. “But not me. If you are a bride, Helen Cameron, where is the gloom?”
“Gloom?” repeated Helen. “Do you mean groom?”