"Yes, sir, Dick Gordon is some boy, and I'll be mighty glad to see him."
Grace almost pinched Cleo's arm to the yelling point. "That's my Jackie—the one who owns my marine room," she said in a low voice.
"Keep your window locked," cautioned Cleo.
"And he's still on the blue?" went on the masculine voice.
"Still is—you-bet-cha," replied his companion. "Regular Willie off the yacht, only he's bound to be Richard on the yacht. Seems some millionaire family he knew—there may be a girl in it—prevailed on him to take a yacht out this summer, so he's sailing her—the yacht I mean; I'm only guessing at the girl."
Isabel coughed audibly. It was just like her to do so and she either had to cough or laugh, and she hastily decided on expressing herself in the least conspicuous outburst.
For a few minutes the young men ceased speaking, and in the interval the girls undertook to carry on something like a conversation; at least they were endeavoring to make their presence known to the other occupants of that corner of the porch.
Thus establishing a general hum of voices, remarks from the young men only floated in as the girls might pause, or giggle, or hesitate about staying longer from the dance floor.
"So old Dick will be back before summer sundown?" they heard.
"Sure thing, you bet'cha," replied the second voice, "and we'll all be here to give the cheers."