"That's it, Ma. You have your little son Carlie to thank for your card to the spree," the lad responded impishly. "I'll be getting you into high society some day if you're good."
"If you don't get us all into jail or some other place before then we'll be lucky," came brusquely from his mother.
"Now isn't that gratitude for you?" growled Carl with mock indignation. "Here I take my mother and all her family to a perfectly good party and this is all the thanks I get for it."
"Yes, this happened to be a perfectly good party," agreed Mrs. McGregor mischievously. "But it might have ended in some scrape or other and like as not it would another time. One never can be sure where your adventures will bring up."
"Well, Ma, Mr. Coulter appreciates me if you don't."
"Apparently he does—up to date. Just you take care that you go on deserving his good opinion."
"I mean to," Carl flashed. "Say, folks, sha'n't we have something to write Uncle Frederick now? I'll bet it will take ten sheets of paper to retail the whole thing; and then he won't really have any idea of what happened. None of you ever can. You just ought to have been there and seen the play."
"It's as good as a play—as good as any moving picture, in my opinion," Louise ventured.
"What wouldn't I have given to be under the seat of that car and listened when you were laying out poor old Cork!" Hal ejaculated.
"I laid him fine and flat," acknowledged Carl with candor.