"Doesn't tell. Miss Pretty, of course, for one; she is a niece or something. Then there's another girl, 'just from abroad,'—'and the rest you know.' Well, I'll take the new girl, at a venture."
"Then you'll not have to think up any new grinds," said Rig. "Lucky man. And I'll take Miss Pretty. If she's heard all mine before, she won't say so. So we are two."
"And Clinker's three——"
"What do you have him for?" said Rig. "He's in every single thing—when he isn't on the area."
"She wants him. By name," said Magnus. "Hopes 'dear Mr. Clinker will be at leisure.'"
"That's a neat way of hoping he's out of Con." said Rig. "Say, didn't she have a granddaughter or something, getting rubbed up in Paris? That's the new girl."
"Granddaughter!" said Magnus. "Just let Mrs. Newcomb hear you say that! But I'll take the rubbed-up girl, whoever she is, my risk. And Miss Frisk will take you. She's sure to be along."
"Sure to get Clinker, if she is," said Rig. "Wonder if the little Busy Bee will come? Kin, you're hard on that girl."
"Don't want me to be soft, do you?" said Magnus, with the drum cutting him short.
Of course the names of the party were all out before Saturday; the girls could not talk of much else. And as for cadets, each girl might have had five, had the limits of the lunch basket agreed thereto. The day was perfect, the dresses faultless, and Mr. Clinker happily "at leisure," for once.