None the less he went to inspect the little rooms of the hotel and came down depressed.
“I don’t want you to go up there, darling. Let’s see if there isn’t some other place.”
The hotel keeper, clerk and manager, reflected on the inquiry which Gregory tried to make polite.
“Of course there’s the Roadside Inn if you’re looking for style. Five miles out. Jitney take you there.”
“I know that place,” said Freda, “That’s lovely, Gregory. Oh, I think you’d like it. Only it may be noisy. They dance there at night.”
The proprietor misunderstood.
“So far as dancing goes here we dance here till midnight too,” he said, full of pride.
Gregory laughed.
“Well, sir, we think we’d like to be in the country to-day. We’ll try the inn you so kindly speak of.”
The jitney ride gave them further sense of adventure and when they stopped in front of the little inn with its quiet air and its stiff little flowerbeds aglow with red geraniums, they were enchanted. Their room pleased them too. A little low-ceilinged room with bright chintzes and painted furniture and a casement window that stood a little open. The colored man who played the fiddle at night, carried up their bags. When he had left them, Gregory kissed his wife.