“I thought you might perhaps propose to have some of your friends down here, same as last year,” Harold answered frankly.
“Well, that's exactly what I do propose to do, and here you've gone ahead in this absurd fashion. What did you do it for, anyway?” and Ted in his impatience got on to his feet and glared down at Harold as though he would like to have eaten him up.
Not a bit intimidated, Harold looked him straight in the face. “If you want to know what I did it for I'll tell you—I did it because I'm tired of the lonely life here. You haven't any more interest in me, Ted, than in a stick of wood; so I'm going to take things into my own hands now and begin to enjoy life in my own way. This little house is as much mine as yours, and I mean to have my turn this summer. I didn't like your friends last year, and took myself off. If you don't like mine this year you can do the same thing.” The role was such a new one for Harold to play that Ted stood utterly nonplussed. That Harold should deliberately assert himself in this way was such an unprecedented performance that he knew not what to say.
“What did you tell Uncle Fritz about me?” he asked presently. “I suppose you painted me as black as the ace of spades.”
“I didn't say a word about you. I wrote him it was awfully lonely here the last two years, and that it seemed to grow worse instead of better, and that if they'd only come over for the summer, we'd do all in our power to make them have a pleasant time of it.”
“Well, that is cool. Did you really say we'd do all in our power?”
“Of course I did. You like Uncle Fritz, don't you?”