"Don't say 'There! There!'" wailed the Little Girl peevishly. Her body
was suddenly stiff as a ram-rod. "Don't say 'There! There!' If you've
got to make any noise at all, say 'Here! Here!'"

"Here! Here!" droned the White Linen Nurse. "Here! Here! Here! Here!" On
and on and interminably on, "Here! Here! Here! Here!"

At the end of about the three-hundred-and-forty-seventh "Here!" the
Little Girl's body relaxed, and she reached up two fragile fingers to
close the White Linen Nurse's mouth. "There! That will do," she sighed
contentedly. "I feel better now. Father does tire me so."

"Father tires--_you_?" gasped the White Linen Nurse. The giggle that
followed the gasp was not in the remotest degree professional. "Father
tires _you_?" she repeated accusingly. "Why, you silly Little Girl!
Can't you see it's you that makes Father so everlastingly tired?"
Impulsively with her one free hand she turned the Little Girl's listless
face to the light. "What makes you call your nice father 'Fat Father'?"
she asked with real curiosity. "What makes you? He isn't fat at all.
He's just big. Why, what ever possesses you to call him 'Fat Father,' I
say? Can't you see how mad it makes him?"

"Why, of course it made him mad!" said the Little Girl with plainly
reviving interest. Thrilled with astonishment at the White Linen Nurse's
apparent stupidity she straightened up perkily with inordinately
sparkling eyes. "Why, of course it makes him mad!" she explained
briskly. "That's why I do it! Why, my Parpa--never even looks at
me--unless I make him mad!"