“Oh, how could I waste so much time on sleep,” she marveled, “when to-day means—Europe? Oh, I can never wait to get dressed!”
She did wait, however, and when she had donned her dress and tucked her unruly curls into place, she looked as fresh and sweet as a flower. She finished her toilet in breathless haste, and as she flung open the door of her room she nearly ran into Phil, who was tearing down the hall toward her.
“Hello, Sis; it’s about time you were up,” was his greeting. “Mother said to call you if you weren’t. Do you know what time it is?” he queried, regarding her severely.
“Yes, I know what time it is, Grandad,” she mimicked, and, catching him about the neck, she began to do a series of steps not standardized in the Vernon Castle repertoire. “Come on, old sobersides,” she laughed; “dance for your life. I’ll be the orchestra.”
Phil was nothing if not a “sport,” so he grasped his sister around the waist and away they went down the hall at a great rate, Lucile singing like mad, until the sounds of 60 merriment reached Mr. Payton in the library and out he came, paper in hand, to have his share of the fun.
He was greeted by a peal of laughter, and Lucile cried, “Stop stepping on my toes, Phil, for goodness’ sakes! See, it goes like this.”
“What’s all the rumpus about?” thundered Mr. Payton, in his hearty voice, and Lucile poked her bright face over the banister to smile impishly and threw him a kiss.
“Dancing, Dad; don’t you want to try?” she challenged.
“Sure,” was the unexpected reply, “only leave a little of the stairs, please,” as they came down two steps at a time and landed right side up with care.
Then Mr. Payton was hugged and kissed and called a “dear” and dragged into the library, where the rugs were rolled up and full preparations made for the first dancing lesson. They were in full swing, with the Victrola going and Lucile counting “One-two-three, one-two-three,” when Mrs. Payton came in.