“You’re right, ma’am,” Kirke nodded emphatically. “Mamma is kind, way through. She isn’t much like you and me, Molly. Sometimes we’re kind, and then again sometimes we’re kind of not.”
“Thank you, sir; you can speak for yourself, if you please,” retorted Molly, bridling.
She had secretly prided herself on being unselfish and warm-hearted, and this frank remark was wounding to her self-love.
“For my part, I’m willing to send for Harry,” she added virtuously.
“So am I, Molly,—on a pinch,” said Kirke. “And I suppose Pauline will bring him,—on a pinch!”
“Then, as soon as we get home to The Old and New, Kirke, we’ll ask mamma to write to Miss Hobbs, and have it over with.”
“Agreed. The Bradstreets will be here by next Thursday, won’t they? Will they stay at The Old and New a week?”
“They’ll stay till the captain and Hop Kee get Camp Hilarious in running order,” answered Molly, as they mounted the steps of the bath-house.
While Kirke presented their tickets at the office, she and Weezy waited in the main room. This had a large oblong bathing-tank in the centre, surrounded on its four sides by a broad walk. The dressing-rooms opened upon this walk, and the door of each one had painted on it near the top either a number or a letter of the alphabet.
“Which room would you like, Molly?” asked Kirke, quickly returning with the keys and their bathing-suits. “You can take ‘H’ or ‘No. 7.’”