“I hope not. I don’t think Garry likes white hair,” said Dorothy demurely.
“Speaking of snowy locks, hasn’t Mr. Grant a stunning head of them?” said the irrepressible girl. “I simply adore that pepper and salt effect, don’t you, Doro?”
“I guess so,” said Dorothy absently. Her mind was still busy with the Bugle offices and the changes made there.
“I wish the Major had not sold the Bugle, Tavia,” she said wistfully. “I can’t forget how I used to help get out the old paper and—I would like to do it again.”
“Good gracious, hear the child!” cried Tavia, making big eyes at her chum. “Not hungering for a career at this late date, are you, Doro? What do you suppose Garry would say to your making a reporteress of yourself?”
Dorothy dimpled and her eyes began to shine as they always did at mention of Garry Knapp.
“I suppose he wouldn’t approve,” she admitted. “He is just old-fashioned enough to think that the man ought to be the only moneymaker in the family.”
“Well, why not, as long as he can make enough?” demanded Tavia airily. “That is really the important thing.”
“Tavia, how you talk!” Dorothy rebuked her. “You know very well you would marry Nat White if he lost every cent he had in the world.”
“Just the same, I hope he doesn’t,” replied Tavia, making a face at her more serious friend. “I like him very well just the way he is. But it will be nice when he gets white hair and whiskers like Mr. Grant,” she added pensively.