"Oh, not quite suicide, perhaps," Mr. Atwater protested. "I'm glad it's a fairly dry town though."
She failed to fathom his simple meaning. "Why?"
"Well, some of 'em might feel that desperate at least," he explained. "Prohibition's a safeguard for the disappointed in love."
This phrase and a previous one stirred Florence, who had been sitting quietly, according to request, and "resting", but not resting her curiosity. "Who's disappointed in love, papa?" she inquired with an explosive eagerness that slightly startled her preoccupied parents. "What is all this about Aunt Julia, and grandpa goin' to live alone, and people committing suicide and prohibition and everything? What is all this, mamma?"
"Nothing, Florence."
"Nothing! That's what you always say about the very most inter'sting things that happen in the whole family! What is all this, papa?"
"It's nothing that would be interesting to little girls, Florence. Merely some family matters."
"My goodness!" Florence exclaimed. "I'm not a 'little girl' any more, papa! You're always forgetting my age! And if it's a family matter I belong to the family, I guess, about as much as anybody else, don't I? Grandpa himself isn't any more one of the family than I am, I don't care how old he is!"
This was undeniable, and her father laughed. "It's really nothing you'd care about one way or the other," he said.
"Well, I'd care about it if it's a secret," Florence insisted. "If it's a secret I'd want to know it, whatever it's about."