"We'd love to come. I have so much to tell you. I've been very busy, but Frank has helped, and it has been such fun! You don't know how he enjoys the little house! Well, good-bye till tomorrow!"
"Boo!" shouted Bob in her ear, as she hung up the receiver. "I discovered your dark secret this morning! Frank Dixon told me!"
"Well, what did you think of it?"
"The only possible solution in that case. You are their good angel—that is, if she doesn't poison Frank with her cooking, or burn the house down when she's lighting the fire."
"She won't, don't worry! She takes to housekeeping as if she had always done it. Her house is immaculate; she has been cleaning and dusting and polishing from morning to night. I'm almost ashamed of mine!"
"I'm not!" said Bob, decidedly. "I don't see how you can keep it clean at all with a man like me scattering papers and cigar ashes everywhere. And I'm always losing my belongings, and always will, I suppose."
"That's only a sign that we haven't discovered the proper place for them all yet. But we'll work it out in time. Well, are you hungry?"
"Hungry? I should say so! Why, I could almost eat you!"
"Well, Bob, we have a rainy-day dinner tonight that I hope you'll enjoy. Hash! Does that frighten you?"
"Not your hash, Betty."