“And small wonder if I do,” he grumbled. “I have lost some money; the stock market is very dull. And nobody is buying real estate. I—I am quite at my wits’ ends, I assure you, girls.”
“Dear me! and another mouth to feed!” laughed Hortense, tossing her head. “That will be excuse enough for telling her to go to a hotel when she arrives.”
“Probably the poor thing won’t have the price of a room,” observed Belle, looking again at the telegram.
“What is that in your hand, child?” demanded Mr. Starkweather, suddenly seeing the yellow slip of paper.
“A dispatch, Pa,” said Flossie, snatching it out of Belle’s hand.
“A telegram?”
“And you’d never guess from whom,” cried the youngest girl.
“I—I——Let me see it,” said her father, with some abruptness. “No bad news, I hope?”
“Well, I don’t call it good news,” said the oldest girl, with a sniff.
Mr. Starkweather read it aloud: