Part 11 (2/2)
”Then that is your final advice?” he asked slowly.
She made answer just as slowly,--
”Mr. Thayer, I am growing older than I used to be, and things don't look quite so plain to me as they did once. Motives mix themselves more, and I am not so ready to put my finger on my neighbor's nerve. If I were in your place, I--rather think I should say my prayers, and then wait.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
”I believe I should hate to have Mr. Thayer fall in love with me,” Sally observed thoughtfully.
”I wouldn't worry about it yet,” Bobby said unkindly. ”He yawned twice, last night, while he was talking to you.”
Sally's answer was prompt.
”Yes, we were discussing you.”
”Why didn't you call me over to give you some points? It is the only subject upon which I can speak with authority. But just think what a lover Thayer would make, troubadouring around under windows!”
Sally counted swiftly.
”There are nineteen families in our hotel, Bobby, and thirteen of them have marriageable daughters. Imagine the creaking of cas.e.m.e.nts, when Mr.
Thayer warbled, 'Open the window to me, Love!' Troubadours will do for the country; in town, one can heed only the impersonal strains of the hurdy-gurdy. But really--”
”Yes?” Bobby's accent was encouraging.
”If Mr. Thayer should fall in love and get engaged, what could the girl call him? His name doesn't lend itself easily to endearments.”
”His mother ought to have thought of that, when she named him.”
”It is a case of visiting the father's sins upon the child of the sixth generation. He is only Volume Seven in the series of Cotton Mathers.”
Bobby plunged his fists into his pockets.
”That is a respectable custom; but a mighty stupid one. A fellow oughtn't to be labelled like one of a cla.s.s. Might as well catalogue children, and done with it, Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and so on through the list of Thayers. Then, when he came to years of discretion, he could pick for himself. Do you suppose I would have been Bobby, if I had been consulted?”
”What then?” Beatrix asked, pausing in her talk with Lorimer.
”Demosthenes Alphonso, of course. That's something worth while.”
”Demosthenes Alphonso Dane. D. A. D.” Sally commented irrepressibly.
Then she swept across the room and, parting the curtains, peeped out between them. ”Beatrix, the Philistines be upon you! Here comes Mrs.
Lloyd Avalons. Oh, why was I the first to come? As a rule, I believe in the rotation of callers as implicitly as I do in the rotation of crops.
Bobby, you came next. How long do you mean to stay?”
”Till the almonds are gone, or till Beatrix turns me out,” he replied imperturbably.
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