"Don't Polly and Peggy 'cultivate' the stripers!" asked Rosalie.
"That depends," was Mrs. Harold's cryptic answer as an odd smile caused her lips to twitch. "Last year's five-striper and a good many other stripers, were with us constantly, and I miss them more than I like to dwell upon. This year's? Well—I shall endeavor to survive their departure."
"Oh, but don't you just love them all!" cried Rosalie.
"Which, the midshipmen or the stripes?" asked Polly.
"Why, the midshipmen, of course!"
"I think a whole lot of some of the boys—yes, of a good many, but there are some whom I wouldn't miss much, I reckon."
"Oh, I think you are perfectly heartless, Polly. They are just the darlingest men I ever met."
With what unction the word "men" rolled from Rosalie's tongue. "Men" had not figured very largely in Rosalie's world, and Mrs. Harold chuckled inwardly at the thought of classing Rosalie's particular little Jean Paul, in the category of grown-ups; anything more essentially boyish, and full to the brim of madcap pranks, than the eighteen-year-old Jean Paul, it would have been hard to picture.
Mrs. Harold had dispatched notes to Helen and Lily Pearl asking them in Peggy's and Polly's name to be present at her little tea that afternoon, to meet several of the midshipmen, and, if they cared to do so, to bring with them the men who were taking them to the hop. She did not know who these men were.
Shortly after four Helen and Lily Pearl arrived in a flutter. Mrs. Harold had not felt it incumbent upon her to include Foxy Grandpa, concluding that he could find diversion for an hour or two while his charges were with their school-chums. When Helen and Lily arrived upon the scene, Mrs. Harold's face was a study. Foxy Grandpa was evidently too dull to be critical and Columbia Heights was at a safe distance.