“Well, my child, I’ll own up that I said ‘wager a hat,’ because that’s a slang phrase—or at least it was in my youth—that doesn’t mean anything in particular, and I said it without thinking. But I’ll stand by it. You shall have the prettiest hat in Boston if you succeed in playing even the mildest little joke on your old grandfather.”
“Now, Father,” said Mrs. McGuire, “I don’t think practical jokes are nice at all; and I don’t think you ought to put Betty up to such nonsense.”
“As a rule, my dear, I agree with you; and I don’t want Betty to get the habit of doing such things. But this is an exceptional case. And, too, a good-natured joke does no harm, especially if the victim invites it himself.”
“I think you’re safe, Grandfather,” said Jack. “I don’t believe Betty or anybody else could fool you. You’re too quick.”
“Thank you for that compliment, my boy,” said Mr. Irving; “and then, too, remember that I am forewarned.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Irving, laughing at the conversation; “I think your chances for a new hat from Grandfather are slim, Betty dear.”
“I really don’t need a new hat—just now,” said Betty, thoughtfully, “but, all the same, I’d like to win that one, and I’m going to try.”
Betty’s dark head wagged in a determined fashion, and, after a little further chaff, the subject was dropped.
But the next day Betty took it up again with Jack.
“I want to play a perfectly splendid joke on Grandpa,” she said, “one that he will remember all his life.”