An amused laugh could be heard over the wire, and Anne laughed back. “No, thanks; a good night’s rest has brought back their natural looks. The faces in the paper must have been taken by the flickering flame of the burning dwelling.”
“Jim and Ken came home late last night for the Holiday. We wanted to congratulate you girls on trying so hard for the Carnegie Medal, but now Jim wants to say ‘good-morning.’”
In another moment, Jim’s voice was heard speaking. “Oh, good-morning, Anne. Have you used Pears Soap?” Then a gay laugh.
“We have, but you haven’t! Your father just told me you got in at midnight, and if you’re up as early as this, I’m sure the sleep hasn’t been washed from your eyes,” retorted Anne.
Polly and Eleanor crowded close and hung over the ’phone so they could hear what Jim had to say.
“I only wanted to say, I’ve got tickets for the show, to-night, and the girls are not to go anywhere else.”
“Oh, tell him we’re out of town on a week-end party,” Eleanor whispered, hurriedly to Anne.
“Are the tickets good for Eleanor’s father and my mother, in case the girls go out of town?” teased Anne.
“Say—you really don’t mean that?” Jim’s voice sounded very sad.
“I cannot tell a lie—I am like George, you see, and I’ll let the girls fib for themselves,” laughed Anne, getting up from the stool and handing the instrument to Polly.