He found himself answering with equal promptness, “Oh, Italy, of course.”
“Can we go to Italy, poppa?” asked the girl.
“I shouldn’t advise you to go there at once” Breckon intervened, smiling. “You’d find it Pretty hot there now. Florence, or Rome, or Naples—you can’t think of them.”
“We have it pretty hot in Central Ohio,” said the judge, with latent pride in his home climate, “What sort of place is Holland?”
“Oh, delightful! And the boat goes right on to Rotterdam, you know.”
“Yes. We had arranged to leave it at Boulogne,” but we could change. “Do you think your mother would like Holland?” The judge turned to his daughter.
“I think she would like Italy better. She’s read more about it,” said the girl.
“Rise of the Dutch Republic,” her father suggested.
“Yes, I know. But she’s read more about Italy!”
“Oh, well,” Breckon yielded, “the Italian lakes wouldn’t be impossible. And you might find Venice fairly comfortable.”