Every one laughed and the general essayed a joke on his own account. "Greenbacks are a better investment," said he, "and you have invested in them pretty well."
"How could you tear yourself away from the Street?" asked one impressionable young thing.
"I don't know," said the Watermelon. "Wall Street is practically my home." And he gazed languidly over their heads into the trees across the road.
"Oh, Mr. Batchelor, do you think the tariff will affect the cost of living?" inquired another of his new friends. "So many people claim that it will."
Henrietta laughed. "Poor Mr. Batchelor," said she. "You can now realize some of the drawbacks to greatness."
"The tariff," said the Watermelon monotonously, "is all right. Take it from me."
He glanced again at Billy. The clock in the garage struck two and he hesitated no longer. "My car," he muttered vaguely, and made for the steps. He ran down them and started around the hotel toward the stables. As he passed near the place where Billy stood, he looked up straight into her eyes.
"Aren't you coming to see my car—Billy?" he asked, the odd little name below his breath, so that even she did not hear.
"Oh, yes, indeed," said Billy.
He caught her hands and swung her down to the lawn beside him.