My Father reached out and pinched my ear.
"How about it, Ruthy?" he asked.
"Oh that's all right," I admitted. "But if I gave my Best Friend twenty-five dollars to remember me by—I hope he'd buy a Blueberry Bush!—Just think of all the colors it would keep your memory!—White in blossom-time! And blue in fruit-season! And red as blood all the Autumn! With brown rabbits hopping through you!—And speckled birds laying—goodness knows what colored eggs! And—"
Somebody banged the front door. Somebody scuffled on the threshold. Somebody shouted "Hello—Hello—Hello—!" It was the Old Doctor.
We ran to see if he had peppermints in his pocket.
He had!
After the Old Doctor had given us all the peppermints he thought we ought to have—and seven more besides, he sat down in the big cretonne chair by the window, and fanned his neck with a newspaper. He seemed to be pretty mad at the people who had made his collars.
"W-hew!" he said. "The man who invented a 21-inch collar ought to be forced to suck boiling starch through the neck of a Blueing Bottle!"
We didn't see just why.
The Old Doctor said he didn't care to discuss it.