“Maybe there’s a movie house. There’s bound to be,” said Bob.
“I didn’t see any,” Cal replied. “I guess they don’t allow ’em here.”
“We’ll ask someone.” Bob hailed a waiter.
“Movies? No, sir, not in Hillsport. There’s two good ones over to Warner, though,” replied the waiter.
“How far’s Warner?”
“Three miles by the trolley. It takes about twenty minutes.”
“Great green grasshoppers!” exclaimed Cal. “What a place to live in! What do you do at night here?”
“Well, there’s a pool-room on the street above and a bowling-alley across the square,” chuckled the waiter. “Mostly, though, we go to bed!”
“I don’t blame you,” muttered Martin. “Only thing to do is eat as much as we can and take our time about it. How long before those steaks’ll be here?”
“Guess they’re ready now, sir. I’ll go see.”