The Judge struggled out of his chair. There was Berty’s brother Boniface, there were several young Everests, there were Charlie Brown, Titus, Dallas, and some other boys that he did not know, and what were those two young fellows doing with notebooks? Reporters, of course. Oblivious of the chatter and confusion about them they were rapidly taking notes, their eyes going all round the room, even to the top of the bookcase, where stood an indignant, frightened pigeon looking down at this invasion of her home.
The Judge soon forgot the reporters. He was just about to ask what he had done that he should be written up for the press when his dismayed eyes fell on a little creature somewhat in the background.
Who was that? If he were in his sane mind he would say that it was Bethany dressed as a boy. Her hair was cut short, she had on a boy’s suit of clothes, and, astonishing to tell, she, quite oblivious of the laughing and talking about her, was amusing herself by playing horse on a chair that she had overturned.
She was astride it. “Gee up, horsie,” the Judge heard her say, and she whipped and beat the chair with her plump little palm.
The Judge gazed helplessly at Mrs. Everest and ejaculated, “Is she crazy?”
“Poor little dear,” said the young woman, indignantly, “those wretches played on her lively imagination and tried to transform her into a boy.”
“What wretches?” asked the Judge, feebly, but Mrs. Everest had too little command of herself to answer him. “There’s the Mayor,” she cried, “I hear his voice,” and she ran out in the hall.
“More carriages!” one young Everest squealed, and they, too, dashed out.
“Tom Everest,” said the Judge, solemnly, to Berty’s husband, “what is this all about?”
“Yes, sir,” said Tom, absently, and the Judge knew that he had not heard his question, for he continued a lively conversation that he was having with Boniface.