"Father, it is gone! I saw it!"
"Saw it?"
"I mean I saw it wasn't there and I searched everywhere. I saw it with my own eyes," said Tootsie incoherently, and between rage and tears she repeated her account in a manner to be completely unintelligible. Mr. Bedelle was a theorist afflicted with indigestion. He carefully selected his diet with due regard for starch values and never ate a raw tomato without first carefully removing the seeds. He was likewise particularly careful never to sit down to a process of digestion in an agitated mood. His irritation therefore considerably aggravated by his daughter's case of nerves, he hastened on to the house.
"I looked everywhere, Daddy, honest I did and it—" Suddenly Tootsie stopped and her jaw fell. There in its accustomed place, reposing on the table, was the phonograph.
"Tootsie!" said Mr. Bedelle in puffy rage.
"Yes, Daddy."
"Go to that machine. Put your hand on it. Feel it. Is it or is it not a phonograph?"
"Is it yours?"
"Yes, Daddy."