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Cullum, Ridgwell, [pseud.], 1867-1943

"The Forfeit"


"Sure, Nan." Then came a fumbling at the door handle.
"You can come right in," the girl cried, without moving from her chair.
The door was thrust open, and the sunburnt face with its shock of
curling iron gray hair and whiskers appeared round it. The deep-set
eyes surveyed the room, and took on a look of deep concern.
"Say, Nan," he cried, "you'll never git fixed in time. I jest give you
the limit of time before I got around. You see, I didn't fancy you not
gettin' a good slep."
The girl shook her pretty head and smiled as she observed the careful
toilet she felt sure her father had spent the whole afternoon upon.
She sprang from her chair and surveyed him critically, with her head
judicially poised on one side, and her pretty ripe lips slightly pursed.
"Everything's bully but that bow tie," she declared, after a
considering pause. "Just come right here and I'll fix it. Say, Dad, I
envy you men. Was there ever a nicer looking suit for men than evening
clothes? I'm--kind of proud of my Daddy, with his wide chest and good
figure.


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