“He acts like it sometimes,” said Berty, warmly. “Years have not taught him grace and experience, as they have Grandma.”
“What is his name?”
“Jimson—Peter Jimson.”
“Let me see,” murmured Margaretta, “there is a Mrs. Jimson and there are two Misses Jimson who are dying to get into our set. I heard the Everests laughing about them.”
“Same ones, probably—well, he knew enough to stand up when I went in. I said ‘Good morning’ and he looked so amiable that I thought he would give me not only what I wanted, but the whole city besides.
“When we had both sat down, I said, ‘I will not take up your time, sir. I have merely come to ask you to give the children of the East End a park to play in.’
“He lowered his eyes, and began to play with a paper-knife. Then he looked up, and said, ‘May I ask your name?’
“‘My name is Miss Gravely,’ I told him, ‘and I am Mrs. Travers’s granddaughter.’
“‘Oh, indeed,’ he replied, ‘and why are you interested in the children of the East End?’
“‘Because I live there—on River Street. We have lost our money.’