“Ah-hah-hah!” Mrs. Joel laughed sweetly, and dimpled at her best—“terribly old-fashioned, of course—but,” she turned graciously to her grandson’s young guest and lavished on him her most dimpled smile, —“frightfully amusing, don’t you think?”
He reddened like a beet, looked helplessly at the two contesting women, craned his neck nervously along the edges of his collar, and finally said nothing.
Joel relieved the painful situation with his swift whispering grace of tact and kindliness. “But really, Granny,” he whispered courteously and eagerly, “—Mums is awfully good at it, she really is…. She can beat me two sets out of three in tennis, and give me ten strokes in golf—and when it comes to swimming—”
“Oh,” said little Howard Martin in his mincing, languishing, and effeminate tone—“she’s ma-a-rvellous!… Ida,” he gushed, in a kind of over-ripe ecstasy—“your diving is simply divine!… If you could only show me—oh-h,” he said, with gushing effeminacy—“if you could only teach me how you do it—but it’s simply perfect—marvellous—”
The meal now proceeded more smoothly. Mr. Joel seemed to take small notice of the feud between the two women—his daughter and his wife—he talked to Joel, Rosalind, and to the other young men in his grand growling way, expressed his opinion on the candidacies of Davis and Coolidge, and said he would vote for Davis.
“If John Davis gets in,” said Mrs. Pierce with that positive worldly assurance that characterized her opinions, “Charles Dana Gibson will get the ambassadorship to England—oh, but that’s settled!” she said positively, “I happen to know that Dana Gibson can have the ambassadorship any time he wants it—”
“Providing Davis gets elected,” Joel whispered, laughing. Turning to his grandfather, he whispered respectfully, “What do you think, Grandfather? Do you think that Davis will get in?”
“No, sir,” Mr. Joel growled, “I do not. I think his chances of getting elected are very slight—unless some sudden upheaval turns the tide in his direction before election day.”
“And whom will you vote for, sir?” Joel whispered.
“I shall vote for Davis, sir,” growled Mr. Joel. “I have known him for many years, he is a very able lawyer, a very able man—but, sir,”—his old growling voice sank to a whisper, and he peered out fiercely from under his grizzled eyebrows at his grandson—“his chances of election are very slight
