“Oh, I guess you can,” said Mr. Round, with a little laugh. “But I’m sorry you hadn’t thought of California. You see, when you spoke of the honeymoon, I thought a little trip through the west would be just the thing, so I pulled a few wires, and here,” he put his hand in his pocket and brought out a thick envelope, “is the result. What shall I do with it?”
“What is it?” asked Allan and Mamie in the same breath.
“An order from the President to place my private car at your disposal for a month—transportation over the Southern Pacific going and the Northern Pacific returning—what do you say, children?”
What could they say!
With a chuckle of sheer enjoyment, Mr. Round tossed the envelope into Allan’s lap.
“Mind you ask me to the wedding,” he said, and caught up his hat. “Come on, Schofield. We’re in the way.”
“How do you know I’m going to marry you next month?” demanded Mamie.
“I know you are—you can’t refuse—it might send me into a decline.”
“Decline, indeed,” sniffed Mamie.