"Ah, yes," sighed the general. Money is power and every man wants power. The general was old, without the time, training or opportunity to make money, while this long-legged youth with the ridiculous woman's eyes, sat on the back seat and babbled lightly of millions as the general could hardly do of thousands.
"Ah, yes, three millions. Have you ever lived in the country?"
"Oh, off and on," said the Watermelon.
"I suppose you are fond of it or you wouldn't come up here every Sunday," went on the general, missing the wall on the right by a fraction of an inch. "Do you care for fishing?"
"If the bites ain't too plentiful."
Henrietta laughed. "You can't do it, Mr. Batchelor," said she.
"Do what?" asked the Watermelon, leaning forward. The Watermelon never lacked self-assurance under any circumstances, and before a pretty girl it merely grew in adverse ratio to the girl's years and in direct ratio to her good looks. Henrietta was not pretty, but she had charm and grace and good breeding, and a combination of the three sometimes equals prettiness.
"Make us believe that you are as lazy as you are trying to."
"If I can't do it, I won't try," laughed the Watermelon. "But you can't do it, either."
"Do what?"