They were like two
irresponsible children rather than father and daughter.
"Oh, dear. And you, too," laughed Nan. "We can't leave you out of the
picture. Being of more mature years I guess you'd sweep in--that's the
way--sweep in gowned--at your age you don't dance around in
'frocks'--in something swell, and rich, and of sober hue. Oh, dear,
oh, dear. Guess we'd have to match your mahogany face. Wine color,
eh? No 'cute little bows for you. Just beads and bugles, whatever
they are. But we'd let you play around with some tinted mixing of
powder for your nose, or--or we'd sure spoil the picture to death. My,
I'd die laughing."
Bud's amusement threatened to burst the white bonds which held his vast
neck.
"Oh, quit it, Nan," he cried, with his beaming face rapidly purpling.
Then he struggled for seriousness. "I didn't get around to listen to
your foolin', child." Then he bestirred himself to a great display of
parental admonishment. "Now, see right here, Nan, I'll get back in an
hour. Maybe Jeff's fixin' himself the way you said.
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