So the story of Susy and her father was told. Mr. O'Flagherty chuckled with delight over it, and laughed at Christina's solemn face. The recital to her meant a recital of Susy's woes and courage. Her own part in it was a very small one in her own estimation.
"Bravo, little Scotland!" said the artist. "Go through the world with your back up and fists out for the oppressed. I wish it had been my Jack-in-the-box. Whose cause will you undertake next, I wonder? Plenty need a champion in this big city."
"I wish you'd chuck Blanche out of the cab, Tina," said Puggy; "then you would be good for something. If she wasn't a woman, but just a fellow like me, I'd do it myself with the greatest pleasure!"
"I'll show you round London in a jiffy!" cried Dawn. "I know the way, don't I, dad?"
"There isn't much you don't know!" retorted his father.
They stayed chatting a few minutes longer, and then Dawn struggled into his greatcoat, and accompanied them downstairs.
"Oh," he said, as they got into the cab together, "we'll do some lovely things together! Tell me what you've done."
Their tongues went fast. At the bottom of Hanover Square they got out and walked the rest of the way to their hotel. Dawn thoroughly enjoyed himself. He liked seeing the different people come in and out of the rooms, and invented a story at once about each of them. They in their turn looked at the pretty curly-headed boy with great interest.
The three children sat down to a luncheon table by themselves. Puggy was in his element now.
"I should like to clear the world of women," he asserted. "I shall have nothing but men servants in my house when I grow up. I hate Blanche and that girl Connie being with us. It's like being with nurses again."