"The gardener ought not to have put those bulbs there,—he knows nothing really! I shall have to find another man…. I hope the chauffeur John engaged will get along with the houseman. The last one fought…. Oh, did I tell you that Potts is coming out Saturday,—the great Dr. Potts? He wants to look me over,—get me ready for the winter campaign…. There's Tom, writing at the desk by his window. Hello, Tommy!" Isabelle waved a hand gayly at the balcony above them. Vickers smiled at the disconnected remarks, so like Isabelle. Her conversation was a loose bundle of impressions, reflections, wishes, and feelings, especially her feelings about other people. And Isabelle had a taste for lame cats, as her mother said,—at least those cats that obviously felt their lameness.
"You don't like Tom," she rambled on. "Why not? Poor Tommy! he's so sweet and clever. Why don't you like Tom, Vickers? You must like him—because he'll be here a lot, and I am awfully fond of him."
"Why 'poor Tom'?" Vickers asked laconically.
"He's had such a hard time, a struggle to get on,—his people were poor, very nice though,—the best Virginia, you know…. He's ambitious, and he isn't strong. If this play shouldn't go—he's counting on it so much!"
Vickers smilingly drew her hand beneath his arm and led her out through the garden into the meadow. "The same old Belle after all," he murmured. "I don't see that Brother Cairy is badly off,—he has a good deal of petting, I fancy. I have heard all about that Virginia childhood and the rest of it…. Do you remember, Belle, when we used to go over to the Ed Prices' and were scared when we saw a tramp in the bushes on the hill? And how we ran through the willows as if the devil was after us?—Who have the Ed Prices' farm now?"
"Don't you know that father gave it to Alice Johnston? Wasn't it nice of him! Her husband is in the road, in St. Louis, doing very well, John says. Alice is over there now,—she brings the children on for the summer…. I don't see much of her—she is so enveloped in children!"
"What's become of the brother,—the one I licked and threw into Beaty's pond?"
"The world seems to have licked him, too," Isabelle replied, laughing at the old memory. "The last time Alice spoke of him she said he was on some newspaper in Spokane, had been in the Klondike, I believe…. There's Mr. Gossom and Tom! We must go back for breakfast."
"Thanks! I have had mine. I think I'll walk over to the Price place and see
Alice. Don't look for me before noon."
"But there are people coming for luncheon," Isabelle protested.