"It is the Silver River Country Club,
sir."
"Oh, well, we'll get out of here, then," Bert said good naturedly,
as he turned the perambulator on the gravel under a hundred casual
eyes. He and Nancy chatted quite naturally about their mistake, as
they re-crossed the rustic bridge, and went up the unfamiliar
roadway again. But a cloud lay over them for the rest of that day,
and that night Nancy said:
"What must one have--or be--to belong to a thing like that, Bert?"
"To--oh, that club?" Bert answered, "Oh, it isn't so much. A
hundred initiation, and a hundred a year, I suppose." "We could do
that--some year," Nancy predicted.
"Well, it isn't only that. There's no use joining a country club,"
Bert said musingly, "unless you can do the thing decently. It
means signing checks for tea, and cocktails, and keeping a car,
and the Lord knows what! It means tennis rackets and golf sticks
and tips and playing bridge for a stake. It all counts up!"
"Where do all those people get the money?" Nancy asked
resentfully. "They looked common, to me!"
"We'll get there, never you fret!" Bert answered vaguely. But long
after he was asleep his wife lay awake in the hot hotel bedroom,
and thought darkly of fate.
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