"Well, anyhow, folks seem to have a choice of houses to live in," observed Tilly, her eyes on a quaint little white bungalow surrounded by heuisach and mesquite trees.
"Yes, they do," laughed Genevieve—Genevieve was looking at the next one to it: an old-fashioned colonial mansion set far back from the street, with a huge pecan tree standing guard on each side.
"Well, seems to me just now a hotel would look the nicest of anything," moaned Cordelia, wearily. "Girls, I just can't go another step—unless it's toward home," she finished despairingly.
"Me, too," declared Tilly. "I'm just plum locoed, I'm that tired! Say we hit the trail for the hotel right now. Come on; I'm ready!"
Genevieve laughed, but she eyed Tilly a little curiously.
"What do you suppose Sunbridge will say to your new expressions à la the wild and woolly West?" she queried.
"Just exactly what they said to you, Miss Genevieve," bantered Tilly.
"Oh, but Genevieve's were natural," cut in Bertha, with meaning emphasis.
"All the more reason why mine should be more interesting, then," retorted Tilly, imperturbably. And with a laugh Bertha and Genevieve gave it up, as with tired but happy faces, they set out for the hotel.
At breakfast the next morning, Mr. Hartley announced cheerily: