“Is your father going to be home tonight? There’s something I’d like to talk to him about.”
“Oh, Father?” An unreasoning resentment filled her. So it was her father he wanted to see—not her! Maybe it was always her father, or her mother—
“He’s rehearsing tonight, that is, Mother is,” she said dully. “He’ll be kind of busy.”
There was a long, disappointed, “Oh!” at the other end of the wire. Judy clutched at a straw. With a quick, turnabout gayety, she said, “Other people are available. Maybe—”
“Do you think I could come over and listen in?” Karl asked eagerly. “Your father said I might come sometime but we never made it definite. Then—I could see you too.” His voice rumbled away in silence.
“Hold the wire, Karl, I’ll ask him.”
She made a wild dash to the kitchen and found her father lighting his pipe after his kitchen labors. She asked her question.
“Oh, I guess it’s all right. I did promise—”
She barely allowed him to finish and bounded back to the parlor, knocking over a spindly chair in her marathon.
“Father says it’s all right. Yes, eight o’clock.”