“I don’t know about that,” echoed Antonia. “I wish I did; it would simplify things.”
“I believe,” said I, “that it’s a simple enough matter for you to solve and manage as it is.”
“But it’s so absurd to bother with!” said she; “and what’s the use?”
“Doesn’t it seem that way?” said Jim. “And yet you know we brought him here for a definite purpose; and in his present state he can’t make good. Just read his editorial this morning: it would add gloom to the proceedings, read at a funeral. We want things whooped up, and he wants to whoop ’em; but long screeds on ‘The Sacred Right of Self-destruction’ hurt things, and bring the paper into disrepute, and crowd out optimistic matter that we desire. And as long as both families want the thing brought about, and there is good reason to think that Laura will not prove eternally immovable, I take it to be an important enough matter, from the standpoint of dollars and cents, for the exercise of our diplomacy.”
“Well, then,” said Antonia, “get the people together on some social occasion, and we’ll try.”
“I’ve thought,” said Jim, “of having a house-warming—as soon as the weather gets so that the very name of the function won’t keep folks away. My house is practically done, you know.”
“Just the thing,” said Antonia. “There are cosy nooks and deep retreats enough to make it a sort of labyrinth for the ensnaring of our victims.”
“Isn’t it a queer thing in language,” said Jim, “that these retreats are the places where advances are made!”
“Not when you consider,” said Antonia, “that retreats follow repulses.”
“We ought to have the Captain and the General here, if this military conversation is to continue,” said I. “And here comes Cecil. Stop before he comes, or we shall never get through with the explanation of the jokes.”