“But don’t hurry,” he said. “I’m idle to-day as usual, and totally at your service.”
“Aren’t you an obliging person! Do you want to take my basket?”
“Pardon, how stupid of me!”
Marketing eventually finished, although not nearly so well finished as might have been, they wound their circuitous way to Queen Street, and, depositing the basket in the back of Courtney’s car, climbed quickly in and motored home.
Courtney had a way of making himself swiftly at home with people he wished to befriend. He carried Freda’s purchases boldly into her house, through the dining room and into the kitchen, where Mrs. MacDowell was peeling potatoes.
“I rescued your daughter just as she was finishing,” he announced. He was pressing her wet hand, obdurate to her excuses, and bowing as punctiliously as at a drawing-room reception. “I hope you’re quite well, Mrs. MacDowell. Freda and I are going to have a game of cribbage before lunch.”
On the verandah they arranged chairs by the small table and began playing.
“The old town does bear down pretty heavily, Freda—what?” he enquired as he dealt the cards. “The mater is slipping down to New York and Phily for a short duty call, and I’m wondering what wild schemes I can perpetrate during her regretted absence. I had thought of a foursome up the river in the big boat to-morrow night, but unfortunately the skipper has been graciously granted a week’s shore-leave. Damn! The mater takes this generous tack merely as a curb on my propensities.”
“Hard luck, Edward.”
“But mark my vow, Freda—some time before I’m eighty, I’m going to stage a buster aboard the gentle Cinderella. However, I’ve got the launch in shape and all I need now is a personnel for this proposed voyage. What say?”