"Aren't we, Bobby? And I don't see why we don't go home by way of
Fort Myer. It doesn't take any longer, and dinner isn't till seven,
you know."
"All right." Bobby leaned forward and spoke to the chauffeur. "Take
us round by Fort Myer, please, Carter," she directed.
The car turned sharply, and in a few minutes they were rattling over
an old bridge.
"We live out in the country, Betty, I warn you," said the voluble
Bobby. "But it has its compensations. You'll like it."
Betty, a stranger to Washington, decided that the Willard must be a
country hotel. It would be like Uncle Dick, she knew, to shun the
heart of the city and establish himself somewhere where he could see
green fields the first thing every morning.
"What is Fort Myer?" she asked with lively curiosity, as the car
began to climb a steep grade. "Is that where they had training camps
during the war?"
"Right," said Bobby. "It's an army post, you know. See, here are
some of the officers' houses. I only hope we live here when Louise
and I are eighteen--they give the most heavenly dances and parties."
Betty looked with interest at the neat houses they were passing. The
names of the officers were conspicuously tacked on the doorsteps, and
there was a general air of orderliness and military spic and spanness
about the very gravel roads.
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