Tilly sniffed her disdain.
"Pooh! You're leaving Boston when you cross those bridges, Genevieve Hartley, and you know it. But just look at them here! We haven't stirred once out of San Antonio, and I think I've crossed five bridges in the last seven minutes. I can imagine those old fellows who built this town getting tired of building houses, and saying: 'And now let's stop and build a bridge for the fun of it!'"
Genevieve laughed heartily.
"You've won, Tilly. I'll give up," she chuckled. "I hadn't meant to tell you; but there are thirteen miles of river twisting in and out through the city, and—there are seventeen bridges."
"Where did you find out all that?" demanded Tilly, suspiciously.
"In a guidebook that I saw last night at the hotel. It's the same one, I reckon, that Cordelia's been giving all her information from," said Genevieve.
"Hm-m;" commented Tilly. "Now I know I've crossed five bridges in the last seven minutes!"
"Well, I wouldn't care if there were forty miles of river and fifty bridges," retorted Genevieve, "if they'd all have such lovely green banks and dear little boats!"
"Nor I," agreed two or three emphatic voices.
Everywhere and at every turn the girls found something of interest, something to marvel at. When tired of walking they boarded a car; and when tired of riding, they got off and walked.