“Jolly me,” said Kenneth, “and see how nice and kind I’ll be.”
“You’re kind enough as you are,” returned Patty. “If you were any kinder, I’d be overwhelmed with obligations. But how are we all going to get into this taxicab? Five into one won’t go.”
“That’s easy,” said Roger. “I’ll perch outside with the chauffeur.”
“No, let me,” said Kenneth.
But after a good-natured controversy, Roger won the day, and climbed into the front seat. Mr. Fairfield, Kenneth, and the two girls settled themselves inside, and off they started for the Fairfields’ home in Seventy-second street.
“I don’t see much change in the old town,” remarked Patty, as they neared the Flatiron.
“You don’t, eh?” observed Kenneth. “Well, there’s the Metropolitan tower,—I guess you’ll say that’s pretty fine, if you have seen the Campanile in Venice.”
“But I didn’t,” returned Patty. “I was too late for the old one and too soon for the new. But is this a Campanile, father? What is a Campanile, pure and simple?”
“A Campanile ought always to be pure and simple, of line,” said Mr. Fairfield; “but if you mean what is it specifically, it’s a bell tower. Listen, you’ll hear the quarter-hour now.”
“Oh, what lovely chimes!” cried Patty. “Let’s move, father, and take a house beneath the shadow of a great clock.”