“I did.”
Again she smiled. Bob saw she, too, thought it was a joke. And he remembered how she knew of one or two occasions when he had just thrown money to the winds—shoved it out of the window, as it were—orchids, by the dozens, tips, two or three times too large, etc. Bob, with those reckless eyes, object to a dollar and a half—or a hundred and fifty, for that matter? Not he! If ever there had been a spendthrift!—
“Well, I’ll lend a hand to a poor, poverty-stricken wretch,” said Miss Gerald, indulgently entering into the humor of the situation.
“What do you mean?” With new misgivings.
“Put them”—indicating the grip and the sticks—“in the trap,” she commanded.
Bob did. He couldn’t do anything else. And then he assisted her in.
“Thanks for timely help!” he said more blithely, as he saw her slip on her gloves and begin to gather up the reins with those firm capable fingers. “And now—?” He started as if to go.
“Oh, you can get in, too.” Why shouldn’t he? There was room for two. She spoke in a matter-of-fact manner.
“I—?” Bob hesitated. A long, long drive—unbounded opportunity for chats, confidences!—and all at the beginning of his sojourn here? Dad’s words—that horrid advice—burned on his brain like fire. He tried to think of some excuse for not getting in. He might say he had to stop at a drug store, or call up a man in New York on business by telephone, or— But no! he couldn’t say any of those things. He was denied the blissful privilege of other men.
“Well, why don’t you get in?” Miss Gerald spoke more sharply. “Don’t you want to?”