"Davison."
"But why should he leave you anything?"
"Well, for that matter, why shouldn't he? Didn't I have to preach his funeral sermon—hardest job of my whole ministry?"
"But what makes you think—"
"Folsom called me up and asked me to be at his office at eleven o'clock for the reading of the will. Folsom is his lawyer."
"Oh, they just want you for a witness, goosie."
"You don't witness wills when they are dead—I mean, you witness the will when the dead person made it—before he is dead, of course."
"Oh, father, I couldn't have bungled it worse myself," she cried gleefully. "But if he left you anything, I hope it was money. Maybe he left you a thousand dollars. Father, if he did leave you a thousand dollars, will you buy me a pair of two-tone gray shoes, twelve dollars? Somehow the height of my ambition seems to be two-tone gray shoes, twelve dollars."
"Two-tone gray shoes! Do they make shoes to music now?"
"Absolutely—and very expensive music, too—an orchestra at the very least. A thousand dollars!"