"You know much! Can't you see she just lit up? Effie!"
A voice came down to them, clear and with a quality to it like the ring of thin glass.
"Coming, pop!"
The light flashed out again, and in a length of time that could only have meant three steps at a bound she was around the elbow of the asphalt walk, a coat dangling off one arm, her summery skirts flying backward and her head ardently forward.
"You'll never guess!"
She flung herself between the two of them, linking into each of their elbows.
"By my watch, Effie, fifty minutes! If it happens again that you get rung up supper-time, I—"
"It was Leon Kessler, pop; he didn't leave on the six-two. Can you beat it? Down at the station he got to thinking of me and turned back. Oh, my golly! how the boys love me!"
She was jumping now on the tips of her toes, her black curls bouncing.
"You don't tell me!" said Mr. Goldstone. "To-day in the store he says he must be back in New York by Monday morning."