“Maybe we’ll hear more about it at Flicks’. Come on, let’s hurry.”
They passed one bungalow on the way to the inn, which Mary Louise pointed out to Jane as belonging to the Partridges—all middle-aged people, she explained—so that her chum was not interested. Nobody over twenty-five was any use to Jane Patterson.
The inn, a large square frame building, was completely surrounded by porches on which tables were placed where people were already eating their dinners. Of the eight families at Shady Nook, all except one took their lunches and suppers at Flicks’. Besides them, there were at least half a dozen boarders. Roughly, Mary Louise estimated there were about thirty-five people at the inn.
They all seemed to know the Gays, for everybody was bowing and smiling as the little party opened the screen door of the front porch.
Mrs. Flick, a fat, good-natured woman of about fifty, came forward to welcome them.
“My, it’s good to see you all back again!” she exclaimed, with genuine pleasure. “But where is Mr. Gay?”
“He had to go to California on business,” explained Mrs. Gay. “So we brought Mary Louise’s friend, Jane Patterson, in his place. Mrs. Flick, this is Jane.”
“Happy to meet you, Miss Jane,” returned the landlady as she led the Gays to their accustomed table. When they were seated, she pulled up a chair beside them to talk for a few minutes with Mrs. Gay.
“Tell us about the Hunters’ bungalow!” begged Mary Louise immediately.
“There isn’t much to tell. Nobody knows much.... Oh, here’s Hattie to take your order.” And the newcomers had to exchange greetings with the waitress, the daughter of a farmer named Adams who lived a couple of miles from Shady Nook.