“Before I go,” returned Phœbe’s father, quietly, “I won’t do something unworthy.”
“Unworthy? What do you mean?”
“Along with the rest, Bob, I happen to know that you care.”
“I?—Say!” Now Uncle Bob laughed. “Who on earth’s been telling you fish stories?”
“Bob, you’re a wise old bird. But you don’t fool me.”
“Jim, you’ve been listening to one of Phœbe’s moving-picture yarns!” (Phœbe sat up. They did mean her!)
“Judge,” said Phœbe’s father, “I can beat you at golf.”
It was then that, suddenly, Uncle Bob seemed completely to change. He grew more earnest, his voice rose. “Oh, listen, Jim!” he begged. “I’ve taken her around a little——”
“No, Bob,—no! no! no!”
Phœbe leaned back, completely at a loss to understand any of it. Fish stories? Moving-pictures? Golf? And that “her” again!