“Tell that to Father and he’ll love you. Primrose is his hero,” Judy said airily.
Karl looked at Judy and shook his head. “With such parents, to throw away the chance of being a musician!”
“If everybody did exactly what their parents did, there’d never be any progress or change in the world. Shoemakers would continue to be shoemakers, plumbers would go on plumbing.”
Karl burst out laughing. “Say, little philosopher, how old did you say you were? Sixteen?”
For a moment Judy thought of correcting this slight error. I’m going to be sixteen, but she quickly concluded, one needn’t be too exact! She smoothed her new plaid skirt, looked at it with satisfaction. How lucky that she put it on this morning before her mother had a chance to shorten it. It certainly added distinction—even dignity.
The church bell rang and Karl looked hastily at his watch. One-thirty! “I have to get along.” He got up and threw his coat over his shoulder. “Must be at the Aspen Times by two.”
“Aspen Times?” Judy inquired eagerly, her eyes large with curiosity.
“No, I’m not the music critic,” he said. “I have an easy, pleasant little job there twice a week. Today I distribute posters to hotels, stores, the inns, and nail some on telegraph poles. A boy I know, Fran, is taking me around on the bus.”
“Fran who drives Little Percent?”
“Yes, you know him?”