“Don't know as I ever saw a finer,” observed Daniel. “Off on a cruise somewhere, I presume likely; hey?”
“Picnic down at the Point.”
“Well, you've got picnic weather, all right. Yes sir, you have!”
Comment concerning the weather is the inevitable preliminary to all commercial transactions in Trumet. Now, preliminaries being over, Daniel waited hopefully for what was to follow. His hopes were dashed.
“Is—is Miss Dott about?” inquired one of the callers.
“Miss Dott? Oh, Gertie! No, she ain't. She's gone down street somewheres. Be back pretty soon, I shouldn't wonder.”
“Humph! Well, I'm afraid we can't wait. We hoped she might go with us on the picnic. We—er—we wanted her very much.”
“That so? I'm sorry, but I'm afraid she couldn't go, even if she was here. You see, it's her last day at home, and—we—her mother and I—that is, I don't believe she'd want to leave us to-day.”
“No; no, of course not. Well, tell her we wish she might have come, but we understand. Yes, yes,” in answer to the calls from the “barge,” “we're coming. Well, good by, Captain Dott.”
“Er—good by. Er—er—don't want anything to take along, do you? A nice box of candy, or—or anything?”