It was October and the tennis-courts were bare; so they had the field to themselves as they sat on the home-made judge’s bench.
“‘Begin at the beginning,’” said Blynn, “as the King said to the White Rabbit, ‘go on until you come to the end, and then stop.’”
The tale was unfolded, populations, scoldings, subjunctive and all.
Blynn laughed. “Is it as bad as that? I had no idea the school was such a dungeon. Why, it is supposed to be a first-class institution! I’ll never believe another prospectus.”
“Do you know, Mr. Blynn, how many people are in New York city at this minute?”
“Bless my soul, no!” he shook his head ruefully. “I shouldn’t want to have that on my conscience. It’s much easier to take the count of 1880.”
“But that wasn’t right, even in 1880,” she continued seriously.
“Yes,” he laughed; “New York has grown bigger even while we’ve been talking; or maybe smaller, for half the town may have gone to Coney Island for over Sunday.”
“What does it matter how many people live in New York?” she asked. “I want to know; really. Miss Warren thinks it very important—although she doesn’t know herself how many were there even in 1880.”
“Well, bless my soul, did you ask her?”