“So there is,” admitted Arthur; “but it’s like all hotels. Now, this is—different. If you’re hungry; if you want a treat—something out of the ordinary—just follow me.”
Louise was laughing at their doubting expressions and this care-free levity led them to obey their host’s injunction. Then the dingy door opened and out stepped a young fellow whom the girls decided must be either a cowboy or a clever imitation of one.
He seemed very young—a mere boy—for all his stout little form. He was bareheaded and a shock of light, tow-colored hair was in picturesque disarray. A blue flannel shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, a pair of drab corduroy trousers and rough shoes completed his attire. Pausing awkwardly in the doorway, he first flushed red and then advanced boldly to shake Arthur’s hand.
“Why, Weldon, this is an unexpected pleasure,” he exclaimed in a pleasant voice that belied his rude costume, for its tones were well modulated and cultured. “I’ve been trying to call you up for three days, but something is wrong with the line. How’s baby?”
This last question was addressed to Louise, who shook the youth’s hand cordially.
“Baby is thriving finely,” she reported, and then introduced her friends to Mr. Rudolph Hahn, who, she explained, was one of their nearest neighbors.
“We almost crowd the Weldons,” he said, “for our house is only five miles distant from theirs; so we’ve been getting quite chummy since they moved to El Cajon. Helen—that’s my wife, you know—is an humble worshiper at the shrine of Miss Jane Weldon, as we all are, in fact.”
“Your wife!” cried Patsy in surprise.
He laughed.
“You think I’m an infant, only fit to play with Jane,” said he; “but I assure you I could vote, if I wanted to—which I don’t. I think, sir,” turning to Uncle John, “that my father knows you quite well.”