"Flame—?" interrupted her Mother quite abruptly. "Where are you doing all this telephoning from? I only gave you eighteen cents and it was to buy cereal with."
"Cereal?" considered Flame. "Oh that's all right," she glowed suddenly. "I've paid cash for the telephoning and charged the cereal."
With a swallow faintly guttural Flame's Mother hung up the receiver. "Dogs—do—not—have—butlers," she persisted unshakenly.
She was perfectly right. They did not, it seemed.
No one was quicker than Flame to acknowledge a mistake. Before five o'clock Flame had added a telephone item to the cereal bill.
"Oh—Mother," questioned Flame. "The little red sweater and Tam that I have on?—Would they be all right, do you think, for me to make a call in? Not a formal call, of course,—just a—a neighborly greeting at the door? It being Christmas Eve and everything!—And as long as I have to pass right by the house anyway?—There is a lady at the Rattle-Pane House! A—A—what Father would call a Lady Maiden!—Miss—"
"Oh not a real lady, I think," protested her Mother. "Not with all those dogs. No real lady I think would have so many dogs.—It—It isn't sanitary."
"Isn't—sanitary?" cried Flame. "Why Mother, they are the most absolutely—perfectly sanitary dogs you ever saw in your life!" Into her eager young voice an expression of ineffable dignity shot suddenly. "Well—really, Mother," she said, "In whatever concerns men or crocheting—I'm perfectly willing to take Father's advice or yours. But after all, I'm eighteen," stiffened the young voice. "And when it comes to dogs—I must use my own judgment!"
"And just what is the lady's name?" questioned her Mother a bit weakly.