"And you are quite sure, daddy, I am not dreaming? That I am sitting right here with my arms around your neck, and you have just told me it is all perfectly true?" And, to make still more certain that the whole matter was one of unquestionable reality, the girl gave her parent such a flesh and blood hug that a physical answer came to her question in the shape of a protest from the very wideawake man.
"Now, see here, Little Captain," he remarked, "it is all very well to make sure we are not dreaming, and that all the good news is real, but please remember I have put on a clean collar and – your tactics are quite military. You are acquiring muscle."
Major Dale kissed his daughter fondly as she relinquished her hold on him, and smoothed back a stray lock of his silvery hair.
"I'm so glad for you, daddy," she went on. "You do so need a real rest, and now we will not have to plan every day what we may spend to-morrow. I fancy I will still keep the note-book going with pounds and prices of things, and an occasional orange, and even some foreign fruit now and then. Dear me! I feel the good of that money already. We can have so many luxuries – no more scrimping and patching – "
"But, daughter dear," interrupted the major, "you must not imagine that mere money can bring happiness. It depends entirely upon the proper use of that commodity – we must always exercise good judgment, whether one dollar or one hundred dollars are involved."
"Oh, of course, I know we are not so very rich, we cannot just exactly live sumptuously, but we may live comfortably. And really, daddy, now that it is over, I may as well own up, I have longed with the longest kind of longing for a brand-new hat. May I really have one? Ribbons and all?"
"Two, one for Sunday and one for every day," promptly responded the major, laughing. "But your hats always look new – "
"They do say I have talent for hats, and that one must have originality to trim and keep old head-gear up to date. So, daddy dear, perhaps, some day, that hint of talent may develop – I may be an artist or something. Then I will bless the days when I had to make over hats to discover myself," and Dorothy promptly clapped upon her blond head such a confusion of straw and flowers, to say nothing of the dangling blue ribbons, that even the major, with his limited appreciation of "keeping old head-gear up-to-date" was forced to acknowledge that his daughter did know how to trim a hat.
"When will the money come?" she asked, tilting her head to one side to get a look in the small oval mirror, that was sufficiently large for the major's neckties, but was plainly too short for hats.
"We won't get it by the pound, like butter, you know, daughter. Nor is it a matter of so many blank checks to be filled out as we progress with penmanship – like copy-book work. As a matter of fact, I have just received the legal information that my dear old soldier uncle Ned – otherwise known as Captain Edward Dale on the retired list, resident of India, subject of Great Britain, has answered the last roll call – and left what he had to me. Uncle Ned was the hero of our family, daughter dear, and some day I will tell you why you are my Little Captain – his own successor," and the major laid his hand upon Dorothy's shoulder in a way he had of making a promise that he intended to keep.
A commotion on the side porch interrupted their confidences, and the major took advantage of it to make his escape. He kissed Dorothy good-bye, and left her to the "commotion" that presently made its way in at the door in the shape of Tavia Travers, Dorothy's warmest friend in every thing.
"Hurrah for the good news!" shouted Tavia, flinging her sailor hat up to the ceiling and catching it as promptly.
"Three cheers for the money,
When will it come?
Give a feller some
Tiddle-umtum-tum
I have to say bunny,
To make a rhyme with money!"
And Tavia swung around like a pin-wheel to bring her "verse" to an effective full stop – a way she had of punctuating her impromptu productions.
Dorothy made a comical "squat" to add more finish, and then the two girls, feeling better for having opened the safety valve of physical exertion to "let off" mental exuberance, sat down to talk it over quietly.
"Are you perfectly positive, certain, sure, that it's just you, Dorothy Dale, and no fairy or mermaid," began Tavia, settling herself among the cushions on Major Dale's sofa. "Of all the delicious, delectable things! To have a rich, old uncle die 'way off in India, where you don't even have to make your nose red at his funeral. And to leave you a million dollars – "
"Oh, not quite a million," interrupted Dorothy. "Something considerable less than that, I believe."
"But it's all kinds of money I know," went on the other. "Dear me! I do wish some kind of money would run in our family even with red noses thrown in. But no such luck! When we have a funeral we always have to pay for the coach."
"Tavia Travers! How dare you talk so, of such serious things!"
"How else would you have me talk of serious things? The most serious thing in my life is money – its scarcity. Funerals, of course, take time, and are unpleasant in many respects, but, for right at home trouble, it's money."
