If young Dixon felt himself much devoted to Ida Silsbee, even he knew that he was much more attracted by the fact that, as money went, Ida Silsbee was a rather important heiress.
One of Dixon’s basic faults was that he hated useful work. He would much rather live on a rich wife’s money.
By the time that the meal was over the fortune-hunter had come to one important conclusion.
“If I want to stand well with Ida,” he told himself, “then I must conceal my feelings well enough to keep on seemingly good terms with this young Halstead cub. I’ve got to treat the boy pleasantly, and make him like me. Otherwise, a girl who places her friendships as impulsively as Ida Silsbee does is likely to conceive an actual dislike for me. That would be a fearful obstacle to my plans!”
So, as all rose from the table at Mrs. Tremaine’s signal, Dixon inquired, pleasantly:
“Going back down the lake for a chance at that pair of ’gators this afternoon, Halstead?”
“I don’t know,” Tom answered. “I’m wholly at Mr. Tremaine’s disposal.”
“Jove! I don’t know that it would be such a bad plan,” mused Henry Tremaine. “What do you say, my dear?”
“Would it be necessary for any of us to leave the boat?” asked Mrs. Tremaine, cautiously.
“Not at all necessary.”