“Because we’re goin’ with you,” replied Betsy equably. “What? Why?” “Because Mrs. Bruce didn’t sleep any, and neither did Mrs. Nixon; and we’re all goin’.” There was no further time for talk. Irving had had the forethought to pay his bill the night before, and when he and Betsy stepped into the last stage it had all the familiar appearance of previous days except that no waitress was shrinking in a corner like a violet striving to hide beneath its leaves. “Here we are,” said Robert cheerfully. “United we stand, divided we fall. We’re all going fishing.” “Irving, come here.” Mrs. Bruce made room for him beside her, and the stage started. She was pale, and had made no effort to get the driver’s seat, where Miss Maynard and Robert had climbed at Mrs. Nixon’s suggestion. “Let some one sit up there who has had a wink of sleep,” Mrs. Bruce had said sepulchrally. “If I owned that inn, Irving Bruce, I would sell it for twenty-five cents.” “Well well!” responded her son, so fortified by coffee and bread and butter, eaten where he was not obliged to look upon a captive maid, that he could smile. “I thought the inn was enchanting you into remaining all summer.” “H’m!” ejaculated Mrs. Bruce. “It may be very fascinating by day; but by night it is Hades, nothing less—not a whit less.” And the speaker shook her head as one who should say that hours of argument would not persuade her to abate a jot of her denunciation. “Did you sleep any, Irving?” “Why—not much. I think it must have been the coffee. You overdid it too, eh?” “Coffee!” Mrs. Bruce glared palely at the suggestion. “There were two men in the room next to us. Logs between—nothing but logs. Irving, wouldn’t anybody with any sense or forethought have cemented between those logs?” “So picturesque,” murmured Irving. “Don’t let me ever hear the word again,” gasped Mrs. Bruce. “They said it all night. Didn’t they, Betsy?” “You said so, ma’am.” “That’s it. I kept asking Betsy if she was awake. Didn’t I, Betsy?” “Yes’m.” “And she knows how they talked. They went out every hour—every hour, all night, Irving.” Mrs. Bruce made the repetition with an impressiveness mere print is powerless to convey. “Went to see the geysers and then slammed back into their room to talk about them. Oh!!” “Too bad, Madama! You’re quite tired out. Now just rest a while. Don’t trouble to talk.” “And the radiator, Irving.” Mrs. Bruce had not yet relieved her mind. “It cracked all night. The apparatus must be put in wrong. I called Betsy’s attention to it several times. She’ll remember.” Miss Foster looked as if the memory of the night was liable to remain for some time as green as the room Mrs. Bruce had waked in.