“Then will you come back to America when we do?”
Madeline laughed at the avalanche of questions. “All good Bohemians are artists,” she explained, “but not necessarily in paint. You can be an artist in tea-rooms, too, you know. I suppose I shall try to write more or less, since my family seem to expect it of me, but until I’ve made my everlasting reputation as a short-story writer I should like to have a steady source of income, which is a thing that most Bohemians don’t have. Besides, think what fun it would be buying the china.”
“It would be great,” declared Babbie solemnly. “Don’t you want a partner, Madeline?”
Madeline laughed. “Wait until I’ve broken the news to my family, Babbie. As I only thought of it this afternoon, my ideas of what I want—except this darling china—are somewhat vague.”
“Well, anyhow,” persisted Babbie, “let’s have tea-rooms for one of the dominant interests of our trip. Don’t you remember in one of Roberta’s books it says that every traveler should have a dominant interest in order to get the most profit and pleasure out of his journey.”
“Well, what can the rest of us have?” asked Betty, turning her teacup upside down and twirling it around three times, ready for Madeline to tell her fortune in the mystic leaves.
“Oh, we’ll get them as we go along, I guess,” said Babbie easily. “I already know what mine won’t be. It won’t be birthplaces.”
Mrs. Hildreth was much amused at the story of the day’s disillusionments.
“It’s very hard nowadays to get away from other American tourists,” she warned the girls. “You mustn’t expect to have exclusive possession of all these beautiful old pilgrimage places.”
Babbie groaned. “Suppose that awful conducted party should go up to Oban on the boat with us.”