“Oh, yes, do come, and bring your sister. I want so much to meet her. But you must take the boat.” She lowered her voice and glanced about, as if to communicate some dark secret. “You might as well give in right now, you are no match for Mr. Danforth—he’s a perfect ghoul for thinking up ways of doing things and getting the best of people!”
During this conversation, Gordon, with terrific exertion and with the full strength of his two arms, was keeping half a dozen scouts from approaching the car. “Can’t you see he’s talking to a maiden?” said he.
Among the autos was a comfortable surrey, with two stamping, impatient black horses. It belonged at the old family mansion on the hill, for the Arnolds had kept their horses, which looked odd among all the paint and brass glitter of the autos. Into this vehicle Harry jumped. His mother and father sat in front, and beside him on the rear seat was his sister, a girl of fifteen, who threw her arms impulsively about his neck as the horses started.
“What’s the matter?” said Harry.
“Nothing. Can’t I kiss you if I want to?”
“Certainly—seen anything of Gordon?”
“He was standing guard near that auto a minute ago.”
“Hey, Kid!” Harry shouted back. “Coming up?”
A small figure darted out from the crowd and after the carriage. Some one called, “It’s going too fast for you, Kid,” and the boy answered, “That’s nothing.” Presently two hands grabbed the back seat and the small figure came tumbling in between brother and sister.
The loud, hollow hand-clap of the Beavers, mingled with the piercing cry of the Hawks, sounded vociferously from the hall entrance, as the team of blacks, trotting briskly, disappeared around a turn of the road.