"Gee, Dad! You know I don't care half as much about clothes as lots of the girls--and that hasn't anything to do with it, anyway."
"I think we ought to break the news to her," suggested Bill, a white blur in the depths of his chair.
Dorothy sat up eagerly. "What news?"
"But perhaps we'd better wait until tomorrow. Tonight, she wants to become an explorer--and give away all her best dresses. She might not take kindly to it." This from Mr. Dixon, between puffs of aromatic cigar smoke.
"You're horrid--both of you. Don't you think it's mean of them to make such a mystery of whatever they're talking about, Mr. Bolton? Won't you tell me?"
"Of course, I will, my dear. What do you want to know?"
Dorothy choked with vexation. "Oh!"
"Let's tell her now--right now--" said Bill, his voice brimming with laughter.
"I don't want to hear."
"Yes, you do--all together: one--two--three! You--are--going--to--learn--to--fly!"