But when along toward noon she heard the call of the telephone, she leaped excitedly to answer it.
"Yes, yes, yes, of course it is. What did you say? What—did—you—say? Do it again, father, and slowly." And then she repeated after him solemnly, word for word, "The prize Jersey cow, or the red auto he was always getting arrested for speeding. And take your choice. Mercy me! Good-by."
Doris hung up the receiver and sat down on the floor. Of all things in the world! A Jersey cow—or a naughty red car! And father was to take his choice.
A Jersey cow—or a naughty red car!
When the girls came clamoring in from school Mr. Artman had not appeared, so Doris served them with hands that trembled, and finally, when she saw that father would not come in time to break his own good news, she said:
"Mr. Davison left a will and father gets a Jersey cow or the red car—which?"
There was no more dinner after that—for the girls all began talking at once—except Treasure, who looked volumes, but never had an opportunity to break into the conversation—and how cross they were at father for not coming home to share the excitement. But maybe he was learning to drive the red car, or—
"Milk the cow," faltered Rosalie. "You don't suppose father would let them talk him into taking the silly old cow, do you?"