“All yellow, like the Cinderella one.”
“They don’t have them at this station.”
“Make them get us one,” urged the young arrogant.
He laughed and they went out into the street and waited until a yellow taxi came. As they took their seats in the coach, Isabelle gazed at her father speculatively.
“I am Cinderella, an’ you’ve got to be the Fairy God-mother, I s’pose, but you don’t look like her.”
“Couldn’t I be the Prince?” inquired Wally.
“No. Besides, he didn’t ride in the coach,” she corrected him, scornfully.
They stopped at a drug shop to get a list of agencies, picked at random from the telephone book. The first one was very depressing. There were several governesses, but Isabelle would have none of them, and Wally did not blame her. The second agency offered to summon a dozen candidates if he would come back in two hours. He agreed to that, and made the same arrangement with the third place.
“Now, we’ve got two hours to kill. What do you want to do?” he inquired.
“I want to go on top the ’bus.”