“Right again, Bob,” cried out Mrs. Harlan. “I always said you had more brains than any of us.”
“Oh, no,” replied Bob modestly, as they started for the dining-room, “I don’t claim to have more than my share of brains, but I’m practical.”
They had arrived here, at Narragansett Pier, only the day before, and Lola, who had been tired out by the long journey from Bar Harbor, had refused to go down stairs to dinner, and had, as she always did of late, taken breakfast in bed; so this was her first sight of the pretty dining-room.
They were given a table by one of the front windows looking out over the water, and as she seated herself and looked around she made up her mind that she was going to like this new place.
The room was crowded, although the season was drawing to a close, and she noted with approval that the guests were of a quieter sort than those to whom they had been accustomed of late.
“It’s a fine assortment of old dopes we’ve fell into this time,” remarked Mrs. Harlan, looking about her scornfully. “Hadn’t you better say grace, Bob, or start a hymn?”
“Good God, Madge!” exclaimed Bob in horror. “It ain’t as bad as that, is it?”
“It’s a good thing for all of us,” said Lola. “It’s a rest to get where you can see decent women and children again. I’m tired of those sporty hotels we’ve been living in lately. I’m going in for the simple life, and besides, these are smart people; you can tell that by looking at them. There isn’t a thing in the world the matter with them, outside of their being respectable.”
“They know enough to get good grub,” Bob asserted with strong approval. “If soup like this goes with being respectable, I believe I’ll get me a pair of spectacles and start in to raise whiskers.”
“Look!” Lola nodded her head in the direction of a table near to them. “Did you ever see a finer looking old man or a prettier child! I wonder if he is her father? No, he’s too old. He is her grandfather; that pretty little woman next to him is his daughter and the little girl’s mother!”