“We were going home,” Francie brought out.
“No we weren’t—not a wee mite!” Delia professed.
“Oh not THERE” Gaston murmured, with a look of anguish at Francie.
“Well, when you’ve fixed it you can take the tickets,” Mr. Dosson observed with detachment.
“To some place where there are no newspapers, darling,” Gaston went on.
“I guess you’ll have hard work to find one,” Mr. Dosson pursued.
“Dear me, we needn’t read them any more. We wouldn’t have read that one if your family hadn’t forced us,” Delia said to her prospective brother-in-law.
“Well, I shall never be forced—I shall never again in my life look at one,” he very gravely declared.
“You’ll see, sir,—you’ll have to!” Mr. Dosson cheerfully persisted.
“No, you’ll tell us enough.”