“Mary! Patricia!” ejaculated a horrified masculine voice from the doorway. “What in the world—”
“Oh, Dad!” cried the girl, springing up and giving a helping hand to her mother. With scarcely more effort than that of her daughter Mrs. Randall regained her feet, and they stood facing Mr. Randall’s astonished gaze.
“Just look at this!” Patricia thrust the magic papers into his hand. “Isn’t it marvelous?”
Mr. Randall read the brief message, turned the check over and over as if to discover its sender by inspecting it from all sides, and then looked inquiringly at his wife and daughter.
“Is this a joke of some kind?”
“Joke!” retorted Patricia in disgust. “I should say not! A messenger just brought it, special delivery.”
“Strange, very strange,” commented her father, shaking his head. “Do you know anything about it, Mary?” addressing his wife, with a suspicious look.
“I most certainly do not. Do you?”
“You ought to know that I don’t. Where would I get that much money? Didn’t we send Pat here to Brentwood College last year because we couldn’t afford to send her away?”
“Keep your shirt on, Dad!” laughed Patricia. “Keep your shirt on, and say I may go.”