“The servants were going to telephone them.”
“What do you want me to do?”—shortly.
“I think we ought to go home——”
“I will not! You go, if you like, and give him a good thrashing when you find him. Come on, Wally.”
She whirled away with Wally, who said:
“Thank the Lord, my kid is a girl!”
But, one by one, parents were called by the ’phone, until a sufficient number of fathers had left to make the affair one-sided. So it broke up, with loud protests on the part of the women against the tyranny of children, and the slavery of parenthood.
Max grumbled all the way home, and Wally slept. But once indoors, he surreptitiously crept to Isabelle’s door and tiptoed in. Her nightie was a heap by her bed, the bed crumpled and empty. He hurried to Miss Watts’s door and roused her.
“Miss Watts, where is Isabelle?” he demanded.
“In bed, Mr. Bryce.”