Captain Charlie stretched himself lazily on the cool grass. "We should worry about gardens and rugs and things," he returned. "This is the day we celebrate."
The father laughed quietly at his daughter's look of puzzled inquiry.
"The day you celebrate?" said Mary. "Celebrate what?"
Charlie answered with a fair imitation of a soapbox orator, "This, my beloved sister, is the day of our emancipation from the iron rule of that cruel capitalist, who has for so many years crushed the lives of his toiling slaves in his Mill of hell, and coined our heart's blood into dollars to fill his selfish coffers of princely luxury. Down through the ringing ages of the future this day will be forever celebrated as the day that signals the dawning of a new era in the industrial world of—uh-wow! Stop it!"
Captain Charlie was ticklish and the toe of Mary's slippered foot had found a vital spot among his ribs.
"You sound like that Jake Vodell," she said. "Stop your nonsense this minute and tell me what you mean or—" Her foot advanced again threateningly.
Captain Charlie rolled over to a safe distance and sat up to grin at her with teasing impudence.
"What's the matter with him, father?" she demanded.
But Pete only laughed and answered, "I guess maybe he thinks he's going to get promoted to some higher-up position in the Mill."
"No such luck for me!" said Charlie quickly. "John will need me too much right where I am."