“I agree with Diccon,” she spoke firmly. “You ought to go. You must take things the way they’re given. I got this dress by arguing the family out of their best judgment. I fibbed a little and put up an artificial storm—pure dramatics, every bit of it—all the time I was thinking how nice a chocolate soda water would taste—I just bulldozed them into giving in. I asked for more than I possibly could get and got what I really wanted. You’re too—too poetic. My advice is to go to Holden and be somebody. The other fellows were playing the same game—don’t forget that!—and they lost. Oh, it was not ideal, but it was perfectly fair. Your friends had the stronger pull, that’s all.”
“I abominate ‘pull,’” he muttered, “all I’ve ever—”
She put a hand squarely across his lips and held it there.
“Hush!” she warned. “That topic is overboard, for the present. Let’s be happy on this ‘one holiday of the whole year.’” She rolled her eyes, like an ingenuous Pippa. “Topic number three is very near. I can hear it.” She raised her hand to make a funnel of it. “Hoo-eeee!” she called across the ravine.
“Hoo-eee!” came a familiar bass, followed by a crashing of bushes. Mac stopped as if on signal.
“Grüss Gott! Herr Professor!” he greeted Blynn; “H’lo, Mac!” he dropped into colloquial English for the driver; but nothing but French would do for the lady, “Jolie à croquer, la petite gosse!”
Bardek, round-faced and smiling, held out gripping hands to all three. As if it had been arranged he clambered into the carriage and drove on with them.
“How fine it is to see you!” he looked affectionately at Blynn. “This is not a good French day—only half and half,” he swept the sky critically, “or I would kiss you on both cheek. Ha! How you would jump! Oh, but you are so cold in America! You shake the hand, sometimes—good!—but you miss much warmth, much flow of blood. The love of man for woman, you have so! so!” a shrug that showed our lack even there, “but the love of man for man you have not at all—a great thing.”
“Bardek,” Gorgas broke in, “I will not have you making speeches all over the place. You—”
“In Bohemia,” he went joyfully on, waving an apologetic hand at the interrupter, “we embrace and kiss and have hot feelings. Here, you bow or say, ‘H’lo’ or ‘So long, ol’ man.’ Ach! We are flesh and blood. We were made to tingle when we touch. You don’t half love what you don’t touch. I keep my hands off this little missy—she would not let me smooth her and pat her; she jump so! And you, Miester Bleen—là! là! là! là!—if I hold you in my arms—or the good Mac there, who I love, too—and kiss you on the ears and on the head! Cr-r-azy! What you say? Nut-ty! To ze Blockley Assylumm, queek! Before he run about and bite somebody else. Eh? It is so, is it not?”