Manila was practical. “Well, if he comes back with a Peru wife you can’t do nothin’,” she argued. (So monosyllabic as a rule, Manila, when it came to the subject of step-mothers, could be even talkative!) “But if he comes back alone, why——”
“What?” asked Phœbe. “Because if he went to the movies, he’d know step-mothers are bad. But he doesn’t. And I can’t think how to show him. I just can’t.”
“I know.” Manila nodded solemnly.
“How?”
“We’ll show him mine.”
“Oh, Manila!” Phœbe was overjoyed. “That’s a wonderful plan! Daddy’ll see her, and he’ll hate her. But how can you get him to see her?”
Manila laughed. “Easy!” she declared. “I’ll fix it so’s she’ll foller me here.”
Phœbe looked at her with awe—and respect. “Suppose she was to try to kill you!” she ventured. “Step-mothers are awful bad in the movies.”
“Let her kill me,” answered Manila, philosophically. “Then the Judge’d have her hung.”
“Say, what does your step-mother look like?” Phœbe wanted to know.