I went over all the arrangements regarding cats and dogs and horses and tickets and hotel accommodations, and then asked, playfully:
“What provision have you made for the young men you are leaving?”
“There's only, one,” said she, with laughing eyes, “and he can take care of himself. He doesn't seem to need any of my help. But he's fine. I recommend him to you as a friend.”
“Yes, I understand. You want me to get his confidence and see that he goes to bed early and doesn't forget his friends.”
She blushed and laughed, and added:
“Or get into bad company!”
“You're a regular ward politician!” I said. “Don't worry. I'll keep my eye on him.”
“You don't even know his name,” she declared.
“Don't I? The name Richard is written all over your face.”
“How uncanny!” she exclaimed. “I'm going to leave you.” Then she added, with a playful look in her eyes, “You know it's a dangerous place for American girls who—who are unattached.”