CHAPTER XVII
THE OVERSEER OF THE RAINBOW RANCH
"OH," sighed Frieda sleepily, "isn't it too delicious to hear the American language spoken once again!"
Ruth and the three other Ranch girls laughed almost as sleepily as Frieda had spoken. They were on the night train coming up from Folkestone to London, after having crossed the English channel from Boulogne earlier in the afternoon. It was now the first week of June.
"Bravo, Frieda!" teased Jean. "One can always count on the younger Miss Ralston's saying the memorable thing as soon as the Rainbow Ranch party arrives on a new soil. Who would have thought of the American tongue being employed in the British Isles. I shall mention it to Frank Kent as soon as we see him."
"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't be funny, Jean Bruce," the first speaker protested, "for you know exactly what I mean. I suppose I should have said the English language. But even if the English do speak deep down in their throats and their voices are kind of choky and queer, at least one can understand what they mean without consulting a dictionary or trying to remember something one has learned at school. After having heard nothing but Italian, German and French for over two months, I could almost have hugged that porter who carried our bags off the boat."
Frieda had been resting her head on her chaperon's shoulder, but now lifted it to continue her argument with Jean. However, Ruth drew her back to her former place.
"Don't be a purist at this late date, Jean," Ruth murmured, shaking her head in a kind of mild reproof. "I must confess I am feeling pretty much as Frieda does. English or American, whichever you may prefer to call it, after our continental wanderings, England does seem almost like home."