“I dunno ’bout that,” said the trainer, walking round his daughter admiringly, while she mockingly and mincingly drew herself up to be inspected, looking as if she were on a London stage, the focus of every eye in an applauding house.
“Ah, it’s all very well for you to come kittening round me, my gal, but it warn’t square, after what I’ve done, for you to go courting and marrying on the sly.”
“But I had hundreds of offers and heaps of presents from all over London, dad, and I wouldn’t take one of them—the offers, I mean.”
“Of course; but you took the presents—”
The girl nodded and winked merrily.
“You didn’t send them back?”
“Likely!” said the girl. “But lots of ’em were stupid bunches of flowers, bouquets—buckets—and they were all squirmy next day.”
“But to go and get married to a little bit of a boy like that!”
“But I was obliged to marry somebody, daddy,” cried the girl, petulantly. “And you saw how he used to admire me and be always coming.”
“Of course, my gal, but I didn’t think it meant any more than lots more did.”