“Don’t you care for him, Helen?”
“Not enough to marry him, as he insists I must do.”
“Oh, well, let him come. I’ll talk to him, if you don’t want to. When may he be expected?”
“Today, I suppose. Oh, of course, he’ll only come to call,—and I forbid you, Patty, to ask him to stay to dinner—or to come again.”
“Wowly-wow-wow! What a cruel fair she is! All right, Bumble, dear, just as you say. And now, scoot back to your own room,—unless you want more chocolate?”
“N-no,” and Bumble looked longingly at the tray. “No,—no! of course not!”
Patty laughed, and gently pushed her visitor out of the room, lest temptation again overcome her.
The Monday evenings planned for the enjoyment of the boys in uniform began to take shape and rapidly acquired considerable proportions.
Philip Van Reypen was a fine organiser and Helen Barlow ably seconded his efforts, while Patty agreed and helped in matters of detail.
Elise was interested and there were half a dozen more of their own crowd ready to help in any way available. Chester Wilde had put in an appearance and Patty liked him from the first. A quick-witted, pleasant-mannered young man, himself engaged in some clerical war work, he declared his willingness to come over from his home in Philadelphia and help with the Monday night parties.