"Yes. At least, she telephoned and talked to somebody over the 'phone in Swedish."
"You don't say!" repeated Mr. Day thoughtfully using a Yankeeism that betrayed his birthplace if nothing else did, although he had long since come from New England to the Middle West. "Then in all probability she telephoned to a friend, and the friend sent the taxicab. I wonder if that Willie Sangreen is in this?
"I tell you!" he exclaimed finally. "In the morning I will go and see the superintendent of our telephone exchange personally. Perhaps, when I explain the case, he will tell me the number Olga called up."
"Oh, Daddy! can you do that?"
"There is a record made of every call," he told her. "Now don't worry more than you can help, Janice. We'll do something about it. Never fear."
His encouraging "do something" was bound to cheer his little daughter. She hurried away to see if dinner was not ready, and caught Delia frankly listening at the door.
"Why, Delia, why didn't you knock or speak?" Janice asked.
But Delia was absolutely unruffled. She drawled:
"I didn't know but you wanted to talk to your Paw some more, and the dinner could wait."
When, a little later, they were seated at table and Delia appeared with the first hot dishes, it must be confessed that her appearance somewhat startled Mr. Broxton Day.