Part 3 (1/2)
”Summer resorters,” replied the driver briefly.
”And do you mean to tell me that all these farm-houses call themselves summer resorts?” inquired Sam.
”No, only those that have running water. The others just keep boarders.”
”I see,” said Sam, laughing.
A moment later they pa.s.sed over a beautifully clear stream which ran down a narrow pocket valley between two high hills, swept under a rickety wooden culvert, and raced on across a marshy meadow, sparkling invitingly here and there in the sunlight.
”Here's running water without a summer resort,” observed the pa.s.senger, still smiling.
”It's too much shut in,” replied the chauffeur as one who had voiced a final and insurmountable objection. All the ”summer resorts” in this neighborhood were of one pattern, and no one would so much as dream of varying from the first successful model.
Sam scarcely heard. He was looking back toward the trough of those two picturesquely wooded hills, and for the rest of the drive he asked but few questions.
At Hollis Creek, where he found a much more imposing hotel than the one at Meadow Brook, he discovered Miss Stevens, clad in simple white from canvas shoes to knotted cravat, in a summer-house on the lawn, chatting gaily with a young man who was almost fat. Sam had seen other girls since he had entered the grounds, but he could not make out their features; this one he had recognized from afar, and as they approached the summer-house he opened the door of the machine and jumped out before it had come properly to a stop.
”Good morning, Miss Stevens,” he said with a cheerful self-confidence which was beautiful to behold. ”I have come over to take you a little spin, if you'll go.”
Miss Stevens gazed at the caller quizzically, and laughed outright.
”This is so sudden,” she murmured.
The caller himself grinned.
”Does seem so, if you stop to think of it,” he admitted. ”Rather like dropping out of the clouds. But the auto is here, and I can testify that it's a smooth-running machine. Will you go?”
She turned that same quizzical smile upon the young man who was almost fat, and introduced him, curly hair and all, to Mr. Turner as Mr.
Hollis, who, it afterward transpired, was the heir to Hollis Creek Inn.
”I had just promised to play tennis with Mr. Hollis,” Miss Stevens stated after the introduction had been properly acknowledged, ”but I know he won't mind putting it off this time,” and she handed him her tennis bat.
”Certainly not,” said young Hollis with forcedly smiling politeness.
”Thank you, Mr. Hollis,” said Sam promptly. ”Just jump right in, Miss Stevens.”
”How long shall we be gone?” she asked as she settled herself in the tonneau.
”Oh, whatever you say. A couple of hours, I presume.”
”All right, then,” she said to young Hollis; ”we'll have our game in the afternoon.”
”With pleasure,” replied the other graciously, but he did not look it.
”Where shall we go?” asked Sam as the driver looked back inquiringly.
”You know the country about here, I suppose.”
”I ought to,” she laughed. ”Father's been ending the summer here ever since I was a little girl. You might take us around Bald Hill,” she suggested to the chauffeur. ”It is a very pretty drive,” she explained, turning to Sam as the machine wheeled, and at the same time waving her hand gaily to the disconsolate Hollis, who was ”hard hit”
with a different girl every season. ”It's just about a two-hour trip.