John explained to her that they were in park territory, and that there were no houses, except a few notable ones, and the tiny shelters used by the park guards.
“The places you read about are mostly farther up the stream, where automobiles are not allowed. Only pedestrians, or riders and drivers of horses, are permitted.”
The look of dejection in poor Marjorie’s face was pitiful to see. John realized that she had set her heart on the Wissahickon for a location; the knowledge had given him considerable concern; and while he had been aware all the time of the impossibility of such a thing, he had not the courage to disillusion her, preferring rather that she should see for herself.
They went along the river-drive, Marjorie silent and apparently lost in thought. It was John’s purpose to allow her to collect herself before suggesting a plan he had in mind. Without seeming to turn back, he followed the winding roads which eventually brought them back in the direction from which they had come. Marjorie recognized the landmarks, and coming out of her reverie, looked inquiringly up at him.
“Yes, we are going back again,” he said, understanding her look, “I’m afraid there isn’t much that would interest us in this neighborhood. You can see for yourself the impossibility of locating around here. Some day we will come without the car, and walk up the creek to see some of the places you had in mind. But really, Marj, they are nothing more than ruins that you couldn’t possibly use; and the few that are habitable are at present occupied and utterly impracticable for a tea-house.”
As John paused for breath he saw the tears gather in the girl’s eyes.
“Please don’t be discouraged!” he exclaimed, hastily, taking one hand from the wheel for an instant, and pressing hers reassuringly. “I have a plan in mind: but I want you to see for yourself.”
“T thought it would be so lovely to be on the Wissahickon!” insisted the disappointed girl.
“So it would,” agreed John; “but perhaps not so profitable. Don’t you see, you must be on a much travelled road, one used by automobilists, to make the thing go. Most of the walkers and horsemen are out for exercise; they go home for their luncheon or their tea. And then, yours is a summer project; if you were to choose an obscure location, no matter how lovely, it would take time before your place became known. I may seem awfully practical about it all, but the fact remains—it’s the hungry people you must catch.”
“I guess you’re right,” laughed Marjorie. “But it seems utterly hopeless to me now, for the first time. What do you suggest?”