"Yes, as I was about to say, I wanted——"
"Tan we hab tookies?" from Dodo.
"Of course, cookies if you want. Now run along!"
"Tan we hab toast-tookies?" persisted the bit of femininity.
Dodo had a way of lumping everything in the line of cookery that was brown and crisp under the name of "toast," from potatoes to pie. The cookies she referred to were simply a toothsome molasses cake, spread out thin and cut into crisp delicious squares, which Katie kept in a jar with rounded sides, after breaking apart. That jar was a mine of riches to the child, and those sweeties her pet confection. In fact, she had readily taken the large contract of keeping the jar from overflowing, and was the principal consumer of "toast cookies." Smiling helplessly, Joyce assented.
"Yes, toast-cookies it shall be."
She gave the child a little push and nodded towards her manager to urge haste. He galloped ahead.
"I wanted to say that this escaped criminal does prove to be Lozcoski, the man I told you of who attempted once to fire the Works. He had heaped kindlings, dipped in kerosene, wherever a bit of woodwork gave opportunity to start a blaze. He was caught by Murfree, and——"
"I telled her, Doyce," panting with the haste of her precipitate return. "I telled her, and she said 'Umph!' but I dess she will. Say, Doyce——"
"Hush, Dodo! Mr. Dalton is talking, and you must be quiet. Shall I hold you?"