And what do you suppose the trouble with ’em was? Why, Bobbie and Charlie was missin’. Honest, that’s all the place lacked to make it a suburb of Paradise. But that was enough for the young ladies; for each of ’em was sportin’ a diamond ring on the proper finger, and, as they confides to Sadie, what was the use of havin’ summer at all, if one’s fiancé couldn’t be there?
Bobbie and Charlie, it appears, was slavin’ away in the city; one tryin’ to convince Papa that he’d be a real addition to Wall Street, and the other trainin’ with Uncle for a job as vice president of a life insurance company. So what did Helen and Marjorie care about sea breezes and picture postal scenery? Once a day they climbed out to separate perches on the rocks to read letters from Bobbie and Charlie; and the rest of the time they put in comparin’ notes and helpin’ each other be miserable.
“Ah, quit it, Sadie!” says I, interruptin’ the sad tale. “Do you want to make me cry?”
“Well, they were wretched, even if you don’t believe it,” says she; “so I just told them to come right down here for the rest of the season.”
“Wha-a-at!” says I. “Not here?”
“Why not?” says Sadie. “The boys can run up every afternoon and have dinner with us and stay over Sunday, and—and it will be just lovely. You know how much I like to have young people around. So do you, too.”
“Yes, that’s all right,” says I; “but——”
“Oh, I know,” says she. “This isn’t matchmaking, though. They’re already engaged, and it will be just delightful to have them with us. Now won’t it?”
“Maybe it will,” says I. “We ain’t ever done this wholesale before; so I ain’t sure.”
Someway, I had a hunch that two pair of lovers knockin’ around the premises at once might be most too much of a good thing; but, as long as I couldn’t quote any authorities, I didn’t feel like keepin’ on with the debate.