“That count will be careful after this,” I suggested.
“If he lives,” said Gwendolyn. “I'm afraid that his head is cracked.”
“His head was cracked long ago,” was my answer.
“Uncle Soc,” said Gwendolyn (she had begun to call me Uncle Soc there in Italy), “Richard and Italy could never get along together.”
“Richard, Gwendolyn, and America are a better combination,” I suggested.
“What a pretty thought!” she exclaimed, just as we overtook the young man about a mile out on the highway to Rome.
“Get in here and behave yourself,” I said. “You've had exercise enough.”
“I could stand more, if necessary,” he answered, with a laugh, as he sat down with us.
That ride to Rome was one of the merriest, in my life. For the young people it had been a day of joy and progress, but on the whole it hadn't been a highly creditable day. So let's drop the curtain right here and let it go into history.