“Dear Mrs. Pippy,” he pleaded, “I appeal to the undoubted wisdom of your years—to your innate sense of proportion—er—to your—why, dash it all, this difference of opinion about Julia has me in the very deuce of a box. Surely you must realize, Mrs. Pippy, the total lack of reason, of understanding, from our viewpoint, in this child!”
“Oh,” Tamea interrupted coldly, “you think I am a fool!” Suddenly she commenced to cry and cast herself, sobbing, upon the Pritchard breast.
He glanced over her heaving ivory shoulders to Mrs. Pippy, then to Maisie. “I’ve taken a big contract,” he complained.
“Julia goes,” said Mrs. Pippy firmly.
Tamea heard the edict and her round, wonderful arms clasped Dan Pritchard a trifle tighter—it seemed that her heart was just one notch closer to disintegration.
“Julia stays,” she sobbed. “You gave Julia to your Tamea—yes, you did—you did—you did!”
Suddenly, impelled by what cosmic force he knew not, Dan Pritchard made his decision and with it precipitated upon his defenseless head a swarm of troubles. “Excuse me, dear Mrs. Pippy,” he said gently. “I am sorry to have to veto your decision, which I trust is not an unalterable one. Julia—confound her Celtic skin—stays!”
Mrs. Pippy bowed her silvery head with the utmost composure and swept magnificently from the room; Tamea raised her tear-stained face from Dan’s breast, took a Pritchard ear in each hand, drew his face down to hers and rewarded him for his fearless stand with a somewhat moist and fervent kiss. Maisie, watching the tableau composedly, felt a sharp, sudden stab of resentment against Tamea—or was it jealousy?
“Well, that’s settled,” she remarked dryly, and Dan sensed the sting.
He looked at his watch. “Got to be going down to the office,” he mumbled, presenting the first excuse for escape that came to his mind. His anxious glance searched Maisie’s blue eyes in vain for that humorous glint that had marked them when he first entered the room. “Please help me, Maisie,” he murmured appealingly. “I’ve got my hands full.”