“And are you in the habit of getting favours granted in the dark?” he inquired.
“Papa says I usually bag my game!”
Now old Mr. Crosby had been a sportsman in his day, and he was mightily pleased with the little jest. But he only asked:
“And what’s your game in this instance, if you please?”
“You!”
“Oh, I! And you want to bag me? Bag me for what?”
“For dinner!”
“Oh, for dinner!”
“Yes! We are all by ourselves to-day, and you’ll just make the table even. There’s only Papa and Mamma, and Louise, and Beth, and Alice, and the baby.” Somehow the succession of sweet, soft names sounded very attractive to the crabbed old man.
“The baby is six years old,” Di continued, unconsciously adding another touch to the attractiveness of the picture.