It was, therefore, a happy gathering that sat down to dinner in Grace Harlowe’s Oakdale home on that balmy mid-summer afternoon. For a time there was chatter and laughter, the reviving of old college and war memories, intermingled with occasional chaffing of Hippy Wingate, always a shining mark for the Overton girls’ teasing.
“Girls,” finally announced Grace, “Hippy has a dark secret locked in his heart, to be brought to light only when we girls are present.”
“I could see the moment he came in that he had,” interrupted Elfreda. “Hippy always was a poor dissembler.”
“Yes, that’s what Nora says,” replied Hippy sheepishly.
“I believe that you girls are not all aware of the fact that Hippy is now a man of affairs,” resumed Grace. “Therefore, his words must be given weight accordingly. Hippy, being too modest to tell you about it himself, I would have you all know that, upon his return from the war, he found himself a rich man, following the death of a wealthy uncle who was so proud of our Flying Lieutenant’s great achievements in the war that he left Hippy all his worldly possessions. Our Hippy, it is rumored, is now lying awake nights trying to devise new ways to spend his fortune.”
“No, no, nothing like that,” protested Hippy Wingate, with a disapproving shake of the head. “What I really am trying to figure out is how not to spend it—that is, not all at once. Of course, so far as my dear friends are concerned, that is another matter,” added Hippy quite seriously.
“My ancestors originated in Missouri. You will have to demonstrate,” observed Emma Dean amid much laughter.
“What we are at the moment most interested in is the dark secret. You have something to say to us,” reminded Miss Briggs.
“Yes, Hippy, do not keep us in suspense,” urged Grace.
“Go on, darling. They will walk out and leave you if you don’t start pretty soon,” warned Nora.