But to Daisy he did unbend. He loved to caress her, to talk to her, too, about matters and things which she could hardly understand. And she would always listen and appear very pleased and interested. Search the whole city of New York, and you would not have found another of her age with so much tact when she chose to play the little lady, nor a better child, either, considering how thoroughly she had been spoilt. If Daisy was a tyrant, she was a very loving one indeed, and none knew this better than her father and the poodle, who is now perched on the front cushion of the barouche, looking scornfully down at the curs whom he passes, and saying to himself: “What a lucky dog I am!”
“I am sure the Society to prevent Cruelty to Animals will do good,” observed Daisy, after holding up her finger a moment and telling Rover to sit straight. “But, pa, is Flywheel Bob an animal or a toy? Or is he really a little boy, as I guessed awhile ago?”
“There it comes again,” murmured Mr. Goodman. Then, with a slight gesture of impatience, he answered: “A boy, my love, a boy.”
“Well, what a funny name, pa! Oh! I’m glad we’re going to see him.”
“No, dear, we are going to Tiffany’s—to Tiffany’s, in order to have
your darling ears pierced and elegant earrings put in them.”
“I know it, pa, but I ordered James to drive first to the factory.”
No use to protest. The coachman drove whither he was bidden. But not a little surprised was he, when they arrived, to see his young mistress alight instead of his master.
“I am too lame with gout to accompany her,” whispered Mr. Goodman to the foreman, who presently made his appearance. “It is an odd whim of hers. Don’t keep her long, and take great care about the machinery.”
“I’ll be back soon, pa,” said Daisy—“very soon.” With this she and Rover entered the big, cheerless edifice, which towered like a giant high above all the surrounding houses.