“To Europe?”
“No—Jimson says he isn’t going to frizzle and fry in big cities in this lovely weather, unless Selina absolutely commands, and she doesn’t command, so he’s going to row her up the river to the Cloverdale Inn.”
Berty put down her cup and saucer and began to laugh.
“Where are those sandwiches?” asked Tom, trying to peer round the cup.
“Gone,” said Berty, meekly.
He brought her a new supply, then came cake, jellies, sweets, and fruit in rapid succession.
Berty, standing partly behind a curtain by the open window, kept her admirer so busy that at last he partly rebelled.
“‘A RIVER STREET DELEGATION,’ SAID TOM”
“Look here, Berty,” he remarked, firmly, “I don’t want to be suspicious, but it’s utterly impossible for a girl of your weight and education to dispose of so much provender at a single standing. You’re up to some tricks with it. Have you got some River Street rats with you?”