"Oh, daddy, it sort of happened. I'm not anxious to have it happen any more."
"Well, neither am I, now that I think of it. Going to bed?"
"I'm sleepy as a cat—no! as the Sleeping Beauty!" saucily.
"I believe you always are!" The professor never knew at what hour he crept to bed, but his daughter's sleepy-headedness was a constant jest. He never failed to pause at the threshold of her door and listen to the deep, long breaths of her slumber and to feel warmed to his heart's core to know she was there, his own daughter, the joy of his life.
"Good night!" She leaned over him, rumpling his dark hair. "Why, there's the telephone! What can it be so late?" She was hurrying along the hall.
"Hello!"
The father turned to watch with lazy interest the lithe figure and bright face and bent head, as she stood, red lips pressed together, the receiver at her ear.
"Ah!" she breathed ecstatically into the 'phone.
"Where did you catch him?"
"To-day!"