When dinner was over and a very pleasant meal it was, they all went up to Dorothy’s sitting room for a quiet evening.
“Oh, Dorothy and Aunt Betty, I had just the best dinner I have ever had. I must, I just must write it all to Ma Babcock, she will sure want to tell it at Liza Jane’s.” With that Alfy crossed the floor and entered her room where she wrote a long, long letter home telling her mother of the wonders of a New York hotel.
“Ting-ling-ling-ling,” bussed the telephone in the hall. Dorothy answered the call saying, “Hello. Oh! Why we are all up here. Where? Oh, yes, in the sitting room. Yes. Yes. Now? All right. Good-bye.” Turning to Aunt Betty, Dorothy said, “It’s Mr. Ludlow.”
“What did he want, dear?” asked Aunt Betty.
“He is coming right up here,” replied Dorothy. “There, that’s him now. Didn’t you hear a knock?” Opening the door she found Mr. Ludlow there. “Come in, Mr. Ludlow.”
Mr. Ludlow came in and deposited his gloves, cane and hat on a vacant space upon the table, then he sat down and turning to Dorothy said: “I suppose, little girl, you are very, very curious to know where you are going to play to-morrow—no, not to-morrow—the next day.”
“Yes, I am,” timidly responded Dorothy.
“Well, I am going to give you a treat. To-morrow I am going to ask Aunt Betty to take all you young folks to a matinee. I hope I have picked out a play that will suit you all. I have chosen ‘Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.’ I suppose you are quite familiar with the little heroine, Dorothy.”
“No, Mr. Ludlow, I am sorry to say I do not know her.”