“The President!” cried out Barbara. “Hooray! Daddy! Dora! Listen!” and now the anxiously waiting maid was to hear the news at last.
“And Daddy isn’t home yet! Oh, dear!” wailed the excited girl. “How shall I wait to tell him? Listen Dora.”
“I’m listenin’,” Dora reminded her dryly. “Whatever is it? Who’s dead?”
“Dead? Who said any one was dead? It’s Nicky——”
“What’s happened to him now, Nick-kee,” Dora was contemptuous.
“Now, if you sneer at him like that I’ll not tell you a single word!” threatened Babs, her cheeks flaming indignantly.
“Who’s sneering, I’d like to know?” retorted Dora, just as if she didn’t know already.
“Well,” began Barbara, “when the government of the United States thinks a boy is good enough and brave enough to be noticed, it seems to me you and I,” she added this last when she remembered the overdue wages, “you and I,” she repeated emphatically, “should at least respect him.”
“Yes,” said Dora, and the word really meant no.
“Oh, all right, you don’t need to bother,” decided the excited one. “I’m in a hurry anyhow. I hope supper is ready. I’m starved too. I’ve got to phone Cara.” She was going toward the phone.