"And there's a soda fountain under that pergola."
"Dicky's hollering for soda right now."
"Mother won't let him have any so early in the morning but we'll remember where the place is."
Yet the procession seemed to be slowing up at the head and, Oh, joy, there was Grandfather making a distribution of ice-cream cones to grown-ups and children alike. Even the porters ate theirs with evident pleasure, consuming the very last scrap of the cone itself.
Then they led the way down a very steep hill and along a pleasant path to a cottage that faced the blue water of the lake.
"Here you are," they said to Mrs. Morton.
"And this must be our landlord's son waiting to open the house for us," said Mrs. Morton as a boy of Roger's age came forward to meet them.
Her guess was right and James Hancock instantly proved himself an agreeable and useful friend. The Hancocks lived in New Jersey in a town not far from the Mortons, but they never had happened to meet at home.
"How many people are there here now?" asked Roger as James helped him carry the bags into the house.
"Oh, I don't know just how many to-day, but there are usually about twelve or fifteen thousand at a time when the season gets started."