Jerry’s eyes flashed indignantly.
“I guess I know what the trouble is,” he said. “Somebody’s been making disagreeable remarks about her being German. It’s a beastly shame, that’s what it is.”
“I thought of that,” said Geraldine, “but who could it have been? Not Mrs. Chester or that nice Mrs. Cranston, I am sure. I asked her if she had happened to meet Ada Godfrey, and she said no. I can’t think of any one else who would do such a mean thing.”
“Well, I wish I could catch whoever it was,” declared Jerry. “I’d say what I thought pretty quick. That kid over at the Godfreys’ makes me sick, the way he goes on about the Germans. Suppose his father did get drowned on the Lusitania. It was an awful thing, of course, but he needn’t put on such grand airs, and talk about never touching the hand of a German. Wouldn’t eat with one, he said, any more than he’d eat with a negro. Paul and I told him to shut up, and then he got mad, and wouldn’t speak to us. He’s only thirteen, but you should see him swagger. I’d like to give that kid a ducking, and—I say, here he comes, and the Godfrey girl along with him.”
It was true; Ada Godfrey and her cousin Archie Davenport were coming up the path from the gate. Geraldine uttered a smothered exclamation of dismay.
“I believe Molly did ask them over,” she said; “I had forgotten all about it. I hope they won’t say anything to upset Gretel more than she is upset already. You must be polite to that boy, Jerry, even if he is a cad. Remember we are the Chesters’ guests, and we can’t be rude to people who come to their house.” With which final warning to her brother, Geraldine went forward to welcome the visitors.
Archie Davenport was a pale, undersized boy, with a shrill, childish voice, and the manners of a man of the world. He was an only child, and since his father’s tragic death, two years before, had been completely spoiled by his doting mother. In response to Ada’s introduction, he greeted Geraldine with a grown-up manner, which almost made her laugh in his face, and, before they reached the house, had inquired, with the air of a bored clubman:
“Any sport going on this afternoon?”
“I don’t know just what you call sport,” said Geraldine, her eyes beginning to twinkle. “I dare say you and the boys will find some way of amusing yourselves. You might like to see Frank’s rabbits.”
Jerry chuckled appreciatively, but before Archie could express his contempt of such juvenile pastime, Molly and Kitty—who had seen their approach—came out to meet them.