“That’s what they all say,” retorted the old gentleman savagely. “‘Make up your mind to it. Why, you ought to consider yourself a lucky dog to be able to go off like this, chasing health around the world, if necessary. How we envy you!’ Envy! Well, they needn’t.” He smiled his wistful smile again. “Fact is, when I was young, I hadn’t any chance to play—I was too busy hustling to pay for bread and butter and an attic room. Now I’m too old to learn. But I like to see young people play well, if they work well too. I’ve got a boy—the young rascal—oh, well, you don’t want to hear me scold about my boy. Tell me where you’ve been and where you’re going and why it is that you like your Europe so well.”
So he led Betty on to tell him about the going-away party at Mary’s, about the senator and the emigrants and the ghost of Dunstaffnage; and they had gotten back to the United States and Harding College again, before the others appeared.
“My dear, I appreciate your staying to talk with me,” he said finally. “I had a daughter once, but she died. I should like her to have grown up to be like you,—or like that little tomboy that stood up to me and insisted you should go on if you pleased. I couldn’t get her for a private secretary next fall, could I? She wouldn’t cry if I happened to find fault with the way she took my dictation.”
Just then Babe herself appeared, leading the others.
“We didn’t find it,” she sang out cheerfully. “That old lady’s idea of a mile is exaggerated.”
“We didn’t dare go any further for fear of missing the coach and worrying mummie,” added Babbie.
“In a hurry to get back to the village, are you?” asked the old gentleman. “I’ve got a car waiting for me somewhere down there at the foot of the hill. You can all squeeze in for that little distance, can’t you?”
“Oh, thank you,” said Babe, “but we were going to have lunch first—bread and milk at the farmhouse near the foot of the hill, if they’ll give it to us. We’ve allowed time for that, and we’re just perishing of hunger. Thank you just as much about the ride.”
“Bread and milk at a farmhouse,” repeated the old gentleman briskly. “I—I believe I’m hungry too. Would it be intrusive——”
“Oh, please do come,” said Betty eagerly. “I’ve made you miss your lunch at the inn, I’m afraid.”