“Advertise?” Florence was puzzled.
“To advertise the fact that I’m just like everybody else. People think rich folks are not. But they are. How could they be different, even if they wanted to? They eat and sleep, drink, fish, play, fight and go to school if they are boys. And what does anyone else do? Exactly the same.”
“I think I could like that boy,” Florence thought to herself.
She said to him in a mocking tone, “It must be truly dreadful to be rich.”
“Oh! it is!
“Want a tow back?” He changed the subject.
“That might be thrilling, and perhaps a trifle dangerous.”
“I won’t dump you out. I’m no rotter. Give me a try.”
She gave him a try. It was indeed a thrilling ride. His boat cut the foam as it leaped from side to side. She got some spray in her face, and was home before she knew it.
“With that boy at the wheel,” she told herself, after thanking him and bidding him good-night, “no speed boat would run down a humbler craft. But then, perhaps he only mans the ‘Spank Me Again.’