"Hello, little friend! Where are those girls? You don't mean that both of them have had the heartlessness to go out at one time and leave you all by yourself? I wouldn't have thought it of them!"
"Oh, they—they—I reckon they'll be in soon. I haven't been lonesome at all. Brindle and I have been looking out of the window at the jitneys—" dangerous ground! If the girls wanted to tell their father of their escapades they were to be allowed to do so, but it was not my business. Why didn't they come on in? I knew they would sooner or later divulge to their beloved Zebedee, but they had certainly meant to get all over with their schemes while he was away.
"We weren't looking for you until day after tomorrow," I stammered.
"Well, is that any reason why you shouldn't be glad to see me now?"
"Oh, no! We are glad to see you—that is, I am."
"That is to say, Tweedles will not be?" he questioned.
"Of course they will be." Why, oh, why didn't they come on?
Weary footsteps dragging along the hall and Dum appeared. Her hat was on one side, not at a jaunty angle but just at that hopelessly out-of-plumb slant. Her face was dirty enough to suit Dee's idea of a jitney driver. Her hair was dishevelled and her shoes very dusty.
"Oh, Page, only fifteen orders in all the afternoon and I am nearly dead! I'll never be able to make a living peddling household no—— What,—you!" and her mouth formed itself into a round O as she spied her wonderful parent.
"Yes, I!"