The light flashed out again, and in a length of time that could only
have meant three steps at a bound she was around the elbow of the
asphalt walk, a coat dangling off one arm, her summery skirts flying
backward and her head ardently forward.

"You'll never guess!"

She flung herself between the two of them, linking into each of their
elbows.

"By my watch, Effie, fifty minutes! If it happens again that you get
rung up supper-time, I--"

"It was Leon Kessler, pop; he didn't leave on the six-two. Can you beat
it? Down at the station he got to thinking of me and turned back. Oh, my
golly! how the boys love me!"

She was jumping now on the tips of her toes, her black curls bouncing.

"You don't tell me!" said Mr. Goldstone. "To-day in the store he says
he must be back in New York by Monday morning."

She thrust her face outward, its pink-and-white vividness very close to
his.

"Is my daddy's daughter going out in a seventy horse-power to Delmar
Garden? She is!"

"Them New York boys spend too much money on the girls when they come.