“No, really, I think it would be real fun to play the king game this morning,” urged Regie, as they came to a spot on the beach where, by mutual consent, they spread out the rug and sat down.
“All right, then,” replied Harry, “and I'll be the king.”
“Then I shall not play,” said Nan, “I am not going to keep changing kings every day.”
“Of course not,” Regie laughed, “you believe in the divine right, don't you, Nan?” Regie had just learned what “divine right” meant, and proudly aired his knowledge.
“I don't know,” said Nan, “but whenever we play I believe in your being the king; I never could think of Harry as a king for a moment. Besides, you're our company, and we ought to wait on you.”
“Bosh!” said Harry, “I don't call people what boards in your house, company.”
“'What boards!'” repeated Nan. “Well, I should think you'd better brush up your grammar, Mr. Murray. Oh, the letter,” she added, nodding in the direction of Regie's pocket.
