“Of course we would have been disappointed,” cordially Beth added. “Now just excuse us a moment till we get up this camp meal.”
With her flushed cheeks and pretty smile, Beth made a charming hostess and Sarita whispered to Leslie as they began to do a few last things, “For all Beth says, he sees the ‘burnished gold’ all right.”
There was gay conversation and exchange of news during the good but very informal meal that camping made necessary. The Secrests described the locality, in which Evan Tudor was so much interested and he, in turn, had bright accounts of his recent experiences in the great city. “I am going to forget it all for a few weeks,” he said. “If I write here, it will be because I can’t help it. I brought the old typewriter along for fear the ‘best seller’ might insist on being written; but all that I really expect to do toward my future profession is to fill a notebook or two for future use. Well, I have one or two sketches to get off at once.”
“Will you put us all in for ‘characters’ in your ‘best seller,’ Mr. Tudor?” Sarita asked.
“You might all figure in my fiction, but I’ll not use you as ‘types.’”
“Thanks. I’d be proud to be in one of your novels, but I’d rather not be a ‘character sketch.’”
“Beth ‘sketches’ too,” said Leslie.
“Now, Leslie, are you going to play the part of l’enfant terrible?” asked Beth. “Please don’t mention my efforts!”
“Your brother has already told me that you are an artist, Miss Secrest. I wish that I might see how you interpret this place.”
Quickly Beth looked at Evan Tudor. He spoke of interpretation. Perhaps he was one who understood. But voices were coming from the woods and Mr. Tudor turned to look in that direction. “Hitch ’em anywhere, Jack,” they heard. It was Peggy Ives with her cousin.