tea-tables. Tennis courts were near by, and several motor-cars
stood beside the pebbled drive.

A gray-uniformed attendant came to them, civilly. Did they wish to
see some member of the club! "Oh, it is a club then," Bert asked,
a little too carelessly. "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!"