"You may take him if you will get him home at tea time," Mrs. Galbraith said. "Your grandmother has set her heart on seeing him this afternoon and you know she retires soon after dinner."
"You wouldn't have any time to sail at all, Roger," put in Cynthia. "Especially if you should get stuck on a bar as you did the other day."
"We should have two hours."
"Why don't you take the launch, Roger?" his mother inquired.
"And get snagged in the eel grass—not on your life!"
"Bob and Mr. Spence are going to do away with all that eel grass, you know," called his father, sauntering out of doors.
"I'll wait until they do, then," was the grim retort.
"I should think Bob would a great deal rather go for a motor-ride," Cynthia ventured, her eyes fixed impersonally on the landscape.
"I suppose you'd like to cart him off in your car."
"It doesn't make any difference whose car he goes in, does it?"