“Bruce Latimer! Come out of there!”
Bruce cautiously poked his head around the honeysuckle trellis and grinned.
“Top of the evenin’ to ye, my fine Miss.”
“Where did you get the brogue?” she demanded laughingly.
“Came over to see if you would care for a ride in the motor boat on this swell night.”
“I’d love it,” she declared. “Let’s go!”
“Ah, a girl of action,” Bruce laughed. “You astonish me. Take it easy,” he pleaded as Gale, bouncing his tennis ball ahead of her, ran before him to the street.
“Slow poke,” she teased.
If Bruce was, he belied the name then and did his best to retrieve his ball but Gale eluded him with the agility of long practice. When they arrived at the spot where Bruce’s boat was tied to the makeshift pier they were both breathless and laughing.
It took but a moment before they were in the boat with the motor putting amicably.