The Dude Wrangler | Page 3

me. But perhaps," with
aggravating sweetness, "I can break you of the habit."

"I wouldn't lose another night's sleep for a thousand dollars!"
"It will be cheaper to change your room, for I don't mean to change
mine."
The millionaire turned to the proprietor. "Either this person goes or I
do--that's my ultimatum!"
"I will not be bullied in any such fashion, and I can't very well be put
out forcibly, can I?" and Miss Spenceley smiled at both of them. Mr.
Cone looked from one to the other, helplessly.
"Then," Mr. Penrose retorted, "I shall leave immediately! Mr. Cone,"
dramatically, "the room I have occupied for twenty-eight summers is at
your disposal." His voice rose in a crescendo movement so that even in
the furthermost corner of the dining room they heard it: "I have a peach
orchard down in Delaware, and I shall go there, where I can snore as
much as I damn please; and don't you forget it!"
Mr. Cone, his mouth open and hands hanging, looked after him as he
stamped away, too astonished to protest.
CHAPTER II
"THE HAPPY FAMILY"
The guests of the Colonial Hotel arose briskly each morning to nothing.
After a night of refreshing and untroubled sleep they dressed and
hurried to breakfast after the manner of travellers making close
connections. Then each repaired to his favourite chair placed in the
same spot on the wide veranda to wait for luncheon. The more
energetic sometimes took a wheel-chair for an hour and were pushed on
the Boardwalk or attended an auction sale of antiques and curios, but
mostly their lives were as placid and as eventful as those of the inmates
of an institution.
The greater number of the male guests of The Colonial had retired from
something--banking, wholesale drugs, the manufacture of woolens. The

families were all perfectly familiar with one another's financial rating
and histories, and although they came from diverse sections of the
country they were for two months or more like one large, supremely
contented family. In truth, they called themselves facetiously "The
Happy Family," and in this way Mr. Cone, who took an immense pride
in them and in the fact that they returned to his hospitable roof summer
after summer, always referred to them.
Strictly speaking, there were two branches of the "Family": those
whose first season antedated 1900, and the "newcomers," who had
spent only eight, or ten, or twelve summers at The Colonial. They were
all on the most friendly terms imaginable, yet each tacitly recognized
the distinction. The original "Happy Family" occupied the rocking
chairs on the right-hand side of the wide veranda, while the
"newcomers" took the left, where the view was not quite so good and
there was a trifle less breeze than on the other.
The less said of the "transients" the better. The few who stumbled in
did not stay unless by chance they were favourably known to one of the
"permanents." Of course there was no rudeness ever--merely the polite
surprise of the regular occupants when they find a stranger in the pew
on Sunday morning. Sometimes the transient stayed out his or her
vacation, but usually he confided to the chambermaid, and sometimes
Mr. Cone, that the guests were "doodledums" and "fossils" and found
another hotel where the patrons, if less solid financially, were more
interesting and sociable.
Wallace Macpherson belonged in the group of older patrons, as his aunt,
Miss Mary Macpherson, had been coming since 1897, and he himself
from the time he wore curls and ruffled collars, or after his aunt had
taken him upon the death of his parents.
"Wallie," as he was called by everybody, as the one eligible man under
sixty, was, in his way, as much of an asset to the hotel as the
notoriously wealthy Mr. Penrose. Of an amiable and obliging
disposition, he could always be relied upon to escort married women
with mutinous husbands, and ladies who had none, mutinous or
otherwise. He was twenty-four, and, in appearance, a credit to any

woman he was seen with, to say nothing of the two hundred thousand it
was known he would inherit from Aunt Mary, who now supported him.
Wallie's appearance upon the veranda was invariably in the nature of a
triumphal entry. He was received with lively acclaim and cordiality as
he flitted impartially from group to group, and that person was difficult
indeed with whom he could not find something in common, for his
range of subjects extended from the "rose pattern" in Irish crochet to
Arctic currents.
The morning on the veranda promised to be a lively one, since, in
addition to the departure of old Mr. Penrose, who had sounded as if he
was wrecking the furniture while packing his boxes, the return from the
war