"Yes," Charlie replied, not knowing in the least what a handicap was.
Neither did Sally. "What is a handicap, father?" she asked.
Her father explained.
"Oh," she said, approving, "then it makes the race fair, doesn't it? Every one has as much chance of winning as everybody else. I think that is nice."
"It is an attempt in that direction, Sally. But there are many things about it, about—er—racing—of any kind, that it is just as well you shouldn't know. So I will not try to explain. If every one concerned acts fairly, Sally, and with good judgment, it is nice, as you say."
Sally was not going to be put off. "Why doesn't everybody act fairly?"
The professor waved his hand and shrugged his shoulders; but before he could make any other reply, the door opened softly. He welcomed the opening of the door. It put a stop to Sally's questioning, which was apt to become embarrassing, in certain cases.
A glance at Sally's face would have told Professor Ladue who had opened the door, but it is to be supposed that he knew. Sally jumped up and ran; and the professor rose—rose with some alacrity—and turned.
"Good morning, Sarah," he said pleasantly. "We are all glad to see you. I hope you are feeling better."
Mrs. Ladue smiled happily. One would have thought that Professor Ladue would have tried that manner oftener. It produced much effect with little effort; but I spoke hastily. I do not know how much effort it was.