“Oh, I SAY!”
At the moment Boyne’s intellectual seance with Miss Rasmith was coming to an end. Lottie had tacitly invited Mr. Pogis to prolong the comparison of English and American family life by stopping in front of a couple of steamer-chairs, and confessing that she was tired to death. They sat down, and he told her about his mother, whom, although his father’s subordinate, he seemed to be rather fonder of. He had some elder brothers, most of them in the colonies, and he had himself been out to America looking at something his father had found for him in Buffalo.
“You ought to come to Tuskingum,” said Lottie.
“Is that a large place?” Mr. Pogis asked. “As large as Buffalo?”
“Well, no,” Lottie admitted. “But it’s a growing place. And we have the best kind of times.”
“What kind?” The young man easily consented to turn the commercial into a social inquiry.
“Oh, picnics, and river parties, and buggy-rides, and dances.”
“I’m keen on dancing,” said Mr. Pogis. “I hope they’ll give us a dance on board. Will you put me down for the first dance?”
“I don’t care. Will you send me some flowers? The steward must have some left in the refrigerator.”
“Well, rather! I’ll send you a spray, if he’s got enough.”