That was mother’s comment. Will whistled; Dorothy, scenting the loss of her beloved Betty, came over to hug her; but father threw away his cigar, folded his paper slowly, and pointed to the arm of his chair as the best available seat.
“Now begin again,” he advised, when Betty had established herself comfortably. “Your proposition does sound absurd, as mother says, but perhaps that’s because we don’t understand it. To begin with, has Miss Babbie Hildreth already gone into the tea-room business? I understood from Miss Bohemia’s letter of yesterday, that so far the sole assets of the tea-room were some double-decker bread-trays, whatever those may be, and some very fat mustard jars, which hadn’t yet left London, and which Miss Bohemia really wanted for her own use.”
“Oh, father, that was just Madeline’s queer way of saying it. She’s written to Babbie, and Babbie has asked her mother for the money, and her mother is willing. So now Babbie has written me. Of course there are a lot of things still to be arranged,” Betty admitted reluctantly, “but it won’t take Babbie and Madeline long to arrange them.”
“I see.” This time Mr. Wales was quite serious. “And you think that under the circumstances—my circumstances, I mean—you would like to join in their project. I’m afraid I can’t spare you any capital, little girl.”
“Oh, I don’t want you to,” explained Betty hastily. “The others don’t expect it. But I’ve thought it over and—isn’t it likely to be a long while before business is good again, father?”
“I’m afraid it will be fully a year before I’m on my feet again.”
“Well, I want to help, to be really and truly earning something, I mean, like Nan and Will. I should perfectly hate to teach, but I should love to run a tea-room.”
“I don’t like the idea of my daughter’s going into the restaurant business,” put in Mrs. Wales stiffly.
“Oh, mummy dear!” Betty abandoned her father’s chair for a seat beside her mother on the sofa. “An adorable little tea-room isn’t a restaurant. College girls are always running tea-rooms. Why, Mary Hooper has a friend in Boston who does it, and Mary is always telling about her, for all she’s such a snob.”
“Would you have to sit at a desk near the door and see that everybody paid up before he could get out?” demanded Will, very scornfully.