“You may consider it so.”
“Whoop! Excuse me, please!” Up sprang Sam so hastily that his chair was almost overturned. He dashed into the hall and caught up the telephone.
Mr. Parker glanced inquiringly at his wife.
“There’s more animation than I’ve seen manifested for weeks,” he observed. “Sam has seemed to be rather subdued lately.”
“I’ve noticed it. And I confess I haven’t understood it.”
“Effect of his escapade with my gun, perhaps?”
“Not wholly. I’m sure there’s something else on his mind.”
From the hall floated Sam’s eager voice:
“Course your folks will let you go, Step. Make ’em, make ’em!... Yes, yes; I tell you there’s a special reason. Biggest chance that ever happened!... No, no; I can’t tell you now, but we’ll get the gang to the club, and you’ll have the whole story.... No, no—just bring along your snow-shoes.... But you’ve got to come—every fellow’s got to!... What’s that?... Sure, there’s a clue!... No; I shan’t talk over the wire.... Get permission to come along; that’s all you need worry about.... Say, hang up now, won’t you? I want to catch Poke and the rest before any of ’em go out for the evening.”
Mr. Parker smiled quizzically. “My dear lady,” he said, “I confess that I find difficulty in comprehending the mental processes of your son.”