I'll do that, but let me off this thing. I am so tired I
can't move. You'll have to walk it back and give me five cents to ride
home on the car."
I crawled in to breakfast more dead than alive.
"What's the matter, dearie? Did you ride too far?" asked mamma.
"I don't know whether I rode too far or whether it was Ted's asking if
he couldn't use my rooms while I was gone, but something has made me
tired. What's that? Whom is papa talking to over the telephone?"
Papa came in fuming and fretting.
"Who was it this time?" I questioned, with anticipation. Inquiries
over the telephone were sure to be interesting to me just now.
"Somebody who wanted to know what train you were going on, but would
not give his name. He was inquiring for a friend, he said, and
wouldn't give his friend's name either."
"Didn't you tell him?" I cried, in distress.
"Certainly not. I told him nobody but an idiot would withhold his
name."
Papa calls such a variety of men idiots.
"Oh, but it was probably only flowers or candy. Why didn't you tell
him? Have you no sentiment?"
"I won't have you receiving anonymous communications," he retorted,
with the liberty fathers have a little way of taking with their
daughters.
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