“That’s going to be tough,” said Stu. “You know what I am when I get started!”
“And another thing I just thought of,” said Rita. “He didn’t bring any golf clubs.”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter. I can fit him out.”
The host and hostess joined their guests on the porch. A Swedish girl served cocktails.
“Are these—is it liquor?” asked Jennie.
“Just Bacardi, and they’re awfully mild,” said Rita.
“But Bob and I don’t indulge at all,” said Jennie.
“This wouldn’t be indulging,” urged Stu. “This is practically a soft drink.”
“I know, but it would be violating the letter of the law,” said Jennie.
So Rita and Stu drank alone and the four moved in to dinner.
“What time do you get up, Bob?” asked the host, at table.
“Six o’clock, in the summer,” replied his brother-in-law.
“Oh, well, there’s no need of that! But it would be nice if we could get through breakfast tomorrow at, say, nine o’clock. I’m going to take you to Piping Rock. We’ll make a day of it.”
“That’ll be fine,” said Bob.
“What do you go around in?” inquired his brother-in-law.
“I’ve got a 1924 Studebaker,” said Bob.
“No, no,” said Stu. “I mean your golf game.”
“Me? I haven’t any golf game. I never played golf in my life.”
Stu’s expression would have made Rita laugh if she hadn’t felt so sorry for him.
“Bob can’t see anything in golf,” explained Jennie. “He says it’s a sissy game. I tell him he ought to try it sometime and he might change his mind. Why don’t you try it while you’re here, Bob? Maybe Stuart would show you the fine points.”
The host seemed not to have heard this suggestion.
“They have got a links near Buchanan, between Buchanan and Niles,” said Bob, “but they charge fifty dollars to join and thirty-five dollars annual dues. That seems exorbitant.”
“It’s an outrage!” is what Stu was going to say, but Rita shook her head at him. “I think you’d find it was worth the money,” is what he said.
“Lots of our friends play,” said Jennie. “Some of the nicest people in both Niles and Buchanan belong to the club, so it can’t be as silly as Bob thinks. But he gets an idear in his head and you can’t change him.”
“What’s on tonight?” asked Stu as the dessert was served.
“Well,” said Rita, “I thought these people would want to get to bed early after their trip, so we won’t go anywhere. We might have a little bridge. Do you feel like bridge, Jennie?”
“I’m awfully sorry, but neither Bob or I play. I know it must be a wonderful game and some of our best friends play it a great deal, but somehow or other, Bob and I just never took it up.”
This was a terrific blow to Rita, who counted that day lost which was without its twenty or thirty rubbers.
“You miss something,” she said with remarkable self-control. “Shall we have our coffee on the porch? I think it’s pleasanter.”
“What do you smoke, Bob? Cigars or cigarettes?” inquired the host.
“Neither, thanks,” Bob replied. “I never cared for tobacco.”
“You’re lucky,” said Stu. “A cigarette, Jennie?”
“Mercy! It would kill me! Even the smell of smoke makes me dizzy.”
Stu and Rita evidently missed this statement for they proceeded to light their cigarettes.
“Is bridge hard to learn?” asked Jennie presently.
“Not very,” said Rita.
“I was wondering if maybe you and Stuart couldn’t teach it to Bob and I. Then we could have some games while we’re here.”
“Well,” said Rita, “it’s—it’s a terribly hard game to learn, that is, to play it right.”
“You said it wasn’t,” put in Bob.
“Well, it isn’t, if you don’t care—if you just—But to learn to play it right, it’s impossible!”
“Have you got a radio?” asked Bob. He pronounced the “a” short, as in Buchanan.
“I’m sorry to say we haven’t,” said Stu, who wasn’t sorry at all.
“I don’t know how you get along without one,” said Bob.
“We just live for ours!” said Jennie.
“What is it, an Atwater-Kent?” asked Rita.
She had seen that name in some paper yesterday.
“No,” replied Bob. “It’s a Ware Neutrodyne, with a Type X receiver.”
“And an Ethovox horn,” added Jennie. “We had Omaha one night.”
“You did!” said Rita.
There was a silence, which was broken by Bob’s asking his sister how often she went to New York.
“Only when I can’t help myself, when I simply have to get something.”
“Don’t you never go to the theater?”
“Oh, yes, if it’s something especially good.”
“Of course,” said Jennie, “you’ve seen Abie’s Irish Rose?”
“Heavens, no!” said Rita. “Everybody says it’s terrible!”
“Well, it’s not terrible!” said Bob indignantly. “That is, if you’ve got anywheres near as good a company here as they have in Chicago.”
“I’d like to see the New York company,” said Jennie, “and see how they do compare.”
This met with no encouragement and another silence followed.
“Well, Bob,” said Stu at length, “you must do something for exercise. How about a little tennis in the morning?”
“That’s another game I don’t play,” Bob replied. “As for exercise, I get plenty of it fooling around the garden and monkeying with the car.”
“Then all I can suggest is that we put in the day fishing or swimming or just riding around in the launch.”
Bob was silent, but his wife spoke up.
“You know, Stuart, Bob’s ashamed to admit it, but being on the water makes him deathly sick, even if it’s as smooth as glass. And he can’t swim.”
Bob didn’t seem to relish this topic and turned to his sister.
“Do you remember the Allens in Buchanan, old Tom Allen and his family?”
“Kind of.”
“Did you hear about Louise Allen running away and getting married?”
“No.”
“Well, she ran away with Doc Marshall and got married. And at first old Tom was pretty near wild, but when Doc and Louise came back, why one day Doc was walking along the street and old Tom came along from the opposite direction and Doc spoke to him and called him by name and old Tom looked at him and asked him what he wanted, and Doc said he wanted to know if he’d forgave him. So old Tom
