Jerry was just coming up the rustic stairs.
“But the attic is a real spook parlor,” he chimed in, “and I’ve always loved it myself. I have a corner for my trash, and the sleeping quarters aren’t bad. You see this place was built with government money, and that’s always—well, real money,” he finished, significantly.
“But Jerry,” again came the opposition from Mrs. Manton, “you know we have scarcely had time to look that attic over since we came here. It seems perfectly absurd to let Nora go up there,” she paused. “I know it’s clean, for Vita takes a pride in fixing attics, but why——”
“Now Ted,” the voice was as soft as a boy’s, “why not let our little girl have her way?”
“I really am not objecting,” said the wife with a smile, “I’m just qualifying.”
“But who dares qualify day dreams?” asked the man, with a comical twist in his voice.
Nora stood on the threshold, uncertainly. “I guess maybe,” she pondered, “we think a lot about dreams when we haven’t real things to think about, like playthings, for real,” she finished.
“That’s exactly it, dear,” said Mrs. Manton, “and day dreams are not always healthy, either.”
“All the same,” insisted Jerry, “I’m strong for that attic. It smells just like the woods after my men have made a good, clean cutting. Come along, girlie, and let me show it to you.”