He thought a moment, and then added brightly:
“To-morrow morning. Put you up for to-night, and we’ll leave first thing. You see, I’ve one more game still to do.”
CHAPTER XXVI
P. D. was taking his “cat-nap” that evening in his “office,” a room that opened off from the dining-room, where the old rancher kept his account books and other papers connected with the running of his business. He was enjoying a sweet sleep, in which he dreamed of three white pawns checking a black King. The three pawns were his. The King was Cheerio’s. Something unpleasant and having nothing to do with the soothing picture he was enjoying, awoke him. He blinked fiercely, cleared his throat, sat up in the big chair, and glared disapprovingly at his daughter who had precipitated herself almost into his lap.
“What is the meaning of this? Is it, then, 8.30?”
“No, Dad. You’ve quarter of an hour still.”
“Then what in thunderation do you mean by waking me for, then? Get away! Get away! I don’t like to be pawed over in this manner.”
“Dad, I want to talk to you about something. I—I must talk to you.”
“When you wish to talk to me, you will choose an hour when I have the leisure to hear you.”
“Dad, you won’t let me speak to you through the day. You always say you’re calculating something, and now you simply must listen to me. It’s vitally important that you should. You must!”