The ladies, all except Mrs. Montgomery, laughed gleefully at the funny cat Buddy had hugged and loved.
“We might get a dime for it, anyway, Alice,” said one. “Are there any more? They will help fill the toy table. Do you think they would spoil the toy table, Mrs. Montgomery?”
The New Yorker had taken the cat in her hand, and Mrs. Vandyne was standing one after another of Peter's toys on the table.
“Spoil it!” exclaimed Mrs. Montgomery enthusiastically. “I have not seen anything so naïve since I was in Russia. It is like the Russian peasant toys, but different, too. It has a character of its own. Oh, how charming!”
She had seized another of the funny animals.
“But what is it?” asked Mrs. Wilcox.
“Mercy! I don't know what it is,” laughed Mrs. Montgomery. “What does that matter? You can call it a cat—it looks something like a cat—yes! I'm sure it is a cat. Or a squirrel. That doesn't matter. Can't you see that no one but a master impressionist could have done them? Just see how he has done it all with a dozen quick turns of his—his—”
“Jack-knife,” Mrs. Vandyne supplied. “Do you think they are worth anything, Alice?”
“Worth anything?” exclaimed Mrs. Montgomery. “My dear, they are worth anything you want to ask for them. Really, they are little masterpieces. Can't you see how refreshing they are, after all the painted and prim toys we see in the shops? Just look at this funny frog, or whatever it is.”
The ladies all laughed.