Keith stirred restlessly. A horrible tightness came to his throat, yet
there was a big lump that must be swallowed.

"Er--that--that Woodland Path picture is going to be great, dad,
great!" he said then, in a very loud, though slightly husky, voice.
"Come on, let's---"

From the hall Susan's voice interrupted, chanting in a high-pitched
singsong:

"Dinner's ready, dinner's ready,
Hurry up, or you'll be late,
Then you'll sure be cross and heady
If there's nothin' left to ate."

Keith gave a relieved whoop and bounded toward the door. Never had
Susan's "dinner-bell" been a more welcome sound. Surely, at dinner,
his throat would have to loosen up, and that lump could then be
swallowed.

More slowly Keith's father rose from his chair.

"How impossible Susan is," he sighed. "I believe she grows worse every
day. Still I suppose I ought to be thankful she's good-natured--which
that absurd doggerel of hers proves that she is. However, I should
like to put a stop to it. I declare, I believe I will put a stop to
it, too! I'm going to insist on her announcing her meals in a proper
manner. Oh, Susan," he began resolutely, as he flung open the dining-
room door.