“Say,” Nicky squeezed in, “do you want an ole candlestick? I’ve got one fer half a dollar.”
“No, I guess not.” Barbara was becoming impatient. “Run along; here’s my car,” for the toot from Cara’s car was sounding along the drive.
“It’s a swell candlestick,” Nicky argued. “I could get a dollar fer it in Asbury.”
“Better go in there and sell it then,” almost thundered Dr. Hale, if ever he did speak in a thunderous tone, which he didn’t, quite, “and don’t fetch any more eggs here——”
“Dads!” pleaded Barbara. “Let them come. Poor little things——”
But Nicky and Vicky were off, scampering as if Dr. Hale had threatened them with a shot-gun.
“Good-bye, Dads,” called back Barbara. “Be sure to phone me——”
“I shall—not,” replied her father, sending the first two words after Barbara, and blowing the last one against the hall mantel. He would not phone Barbara, not unless there was very urgent need to do so, and there appeared to be no prospect of the latter contingency, just then.
Dora came forth from the pantry, two eggs in one hand and one in the other. Her long face was longer than usual, and her faded eyes seemed about to lose their jell and melt into a little puddle of colorless mucilage.
“There’s the eggs,” she intoned, as if any one could have mistaken them for tomatoes.