“Why, my stars!” cried the lobby-member, after glancing at the figures—“my stars! isn’t it as important a bill as the other?”
“I won’t alter my figures,” replied Mr. Goodman.
“But remember, sir, you are president of the So—”
“I won’t alter my figures,” repeated Mr. Goodman, interrupting him.
“Then, sir, you cannot count on a law to prevent people running after foxes,” answered Mr. Fox dryly; but presently, shrugging his shoulders, “However, as much as can be accomplished with that small sum of money, I will accomplish.”
“I don’t doubt it,” observed Mr. Goodman; then, turning toward the table, “And now, sir, suppose we drink a glass of wine, after which you will proceed to Albany.”
Accordingly, to Albany Mr. Fox went, while Richard Goodman and his daughter took wing for Long Branch.
But, strange to relate, the change
of air did not work the beneficial effects which her father had expected. There was evidently something the matter with Daisy. She had grown thoughtful beyond her years, and would ever and anon sit down on the beach, and, with Rover’s head resting on her lap, gaze out over the blue waters without opening her lips for perhaps a whole hour.
“What can ail my darling child?” Mr. Goodman often asked himself during these pensive moods. Then he consulted three physicians who happened to be taking a holiday at the Branch; one of whom recommended iron, another cod-liver oil, while the third doctor said: “Fresh milk, sir, fresh milk.”