"No—because I don't care for monkeys or peacocks—in fact, I particularly detest them!"
"But lions, dad! There are lions—"
"In the menagerie at home, perhaps."
"Yes, and in this one—bigger lions than you ever dreamed of, dad!—perfect monsters of lions!"
"Oh, no, there aren't, Susie," dissented Rushford. "You don't know the species. You've mistaken a bray for a roar, just as a lot of people always do, if the bray is only loud enough. Come, now, let me know the worst. How much longer do you propose to stay here?"
"Well, dad, you see the season won't be at its height for fully a month yet—"
"A month!" echoed Rushford, in dismay. "Well, Susie, you and Nell may be able to stand it for a month, but long ere that I'll be dead—ossified, fossilised, dried up, and blown away! Maybe you girls enjoy it, though I didn't think it of you—but what can I do? I'm tired of reading day-before-yesterday's newspaper and of being two days behind the market. Two days! Think what may have happened to steel since I've heard from it! It's enough to drive a man mad!"
He got out a cigar, lighted it, and stood puffing it nervously, appalled at the vision his own words had conjured up.
"But, dad," Sue pointed out, coming to his side and taking his arm coaxingly, "you know it was just to get away from all that worry—from those horrid stocks and things—that you consented to come with us."
"Don't call the stocks hard names, Susie. Don't go back on your best friends!" protested Rushford. "Don't forget what they've done for you!"