“Who told you?” demanded Marty.
“A boy.”
“What boy?” cried Marty, in flushed wrath. “I didn’t tell no boy.”
“You’re a boy yourself, Marty,” laughed Janice gaily, and with shining eyes, “and you have just told me!”
“Aw, you cheated,” grumbled Marty, very red in the face.
“What did you do it for?” asked Janice.
“Well! he ought to know that you didn’t do anything foolish with that money. I don’t care what you say, Dad,” he added, bristling up. “Poor little Lottie Drugg tumbled down the cellar steps and might have been killed. By crackey! I’d have give money myself to have her see. Yes, I would.”
Then he suddenly grinned slily across the table at Janice, and added: “B’sides, I wanted to run a car myself. I thought he’d buy you one if he knew what you’d done with your money.”
“I don’t believe you were so selfish in your thought, Marty,” said the girl, her eyes misty. “I can’t scold you, now it’s done, and the car is here, but I am going to punish you just the same.”
She jumped up from her seat and started around the table. Marty looked scared for a moment. She bore down on him with such plain intention, however, that he began to grin sheepishly again.