“I don’t know about him. I hate crowds myself.”
“I like them,” said Bonny. “Come, Margaretta, decide.”
“Oh, my dear, spoiled boy,” said the girl, in perplexity, “I would give a party to all Riverport if it would please you, but I am trying dreadfully hard to economize. Those large things cost so much.”
Bonny opened wide his big blue eyes. “You are not getting mean, Margaretta?”
“No, no, my heart feels more generous than ever, but I see that this eternal entertaining on a big scale doesn’t amount to much. Once in awhile a huge affair is nice, but to keep it up week after week is a waste of time and energy, and you don’t make real friends.”
“All right,” said Bonny, good-naturedly. “I’ll take him for a swim. That won’t cost anything.”
“Now, Bonny,” said Margaretta, in an injured voice, “don’t misunderstand me. We’ll have a little excursion on the river, if you like, with half a dozen of your friends, and I’ll give you a good big party this summer—you would rather have it later on, wouldn’t you, when there are more girls visiting here?”
“Yes, indeed, let us wait for the girls,” said Bonny.
“And in the meantime,” continued Margaretta, “bring the Boston boy here as often as you like, to drop in to meals. I shall be delighted to see him, and so will you, Roger, won’t you?”