“Well, I’m no flyer and I haven’t the slightest idea of the technicalities that must arise in aerial combat work,” Mr. Dixon made this statement slowly and thoughtfully, “but still—”
“Daddy, don’t be ridic.” Dorothy’s tone was tolerantly amused.
“Do you really think I’m foolish, my dear child?”
“Oh, pigheaded is a better word, at times, if you insist on the truth!”
All four burst into roars of mirth.
“That’s one from the shoulder, Mr. Dixon,” choked Bill. “You’d better go the whole hog, now she’s a licensed pilot!”
Dorothy’s father shook his head in pretended sorrow. “You’re all against me, that’s obvious. And there’s much too much pig in this conversation to suit a conservative parent.” He threw an affectionate glance at Dorothy. “Ever since this tomboy daughter of mine was able to grip my finger when I leaned over her crib, she has pulled her old Dad hither and yon to suit her fancy. So I suppose I’ll have to give in again—acknowledge I’m wrong, and so forth. Run along, children, and see to it your airships are in apple-pie order.”
“You’re a darling!” His daughter bestowed a hearty kiss upon his left ear.
“Beat it—you scamp!” Mr. Dixon’s voice was gruff, though his eyes sparkled with merriment. “If you bother me much longer, it will be lunch time before I get down to the bank—and I’m likely to change my mind. Shoo!”
“Ogre—I defy you!” With a laugh, she beckoned to Bill and ran down the steps.