Dorothy's eyes went wide. "No, he said that after I had heard the news from you, he would leave everything to me."
"Oh!"
"But, father, I don't think you have been fair. Tom is right. I don't chew gum, do I?"
"Well——" He was indignant. Then he stopped thoughtfully. "No."
"But Mary downstairs does. She wouldn't be offended at 'Lulu Tulu.' I dare say she'd think it 'just grand.'"
He returned no answer.
"Come, daddy," she went on. "New York has grown lots—even since I was little. And—and some people get behind the times. They think they're being dignified when it's only that they're antiquated."
He looked shrewdly at her. "I never heard you talk like that before. Where did you——"
"Tom said that a week ago," she admitted. "And he said, too, that he could double the results if he only had full swing. Instead, you admit he's a mere clerk for that horrid Pepper. Oh, daddy, daddy," she pleaded. "Give him a chance." Then her voice went low again. "I'm going to marry him anyway," she said, "and you don't want this between. If he fails, I'll stand the loss from what mother left me. Give him full swing—a real chance, daddy! He's going to be—your son."
John Houghton looked into the earnest girlish face. He wound the curl about his finger. "Kaufmann has always wanted to visit the Fatherland," he said irrelevantly.