"
On the second Saturday after her return her father came home
for dinner at noon, found her deep in Volume Two of "Les
Miserables."
"Whew! This is a scorcher!" he exclaimed, and dropped down on
a wicker chair next to Ivy. Ivy looked at her father with languid
interest, and smiled a daughterly smile. Ivy's father was an
insurance man, alderman of his ward, president of the Civic
Improvement club, member of five lodges, and an habitual delegate.
It generally was he who introduced distinguished guests who spoke
at the opera house on Decoration Day. He called Mrs. Keller
"Mother," and he wasn't above noticing the fit of a gown on a
pretty feminine figure. He thought Ivy was an expurgated edition
of Lillian Russell, Madame De Stael, and Mrs. Pankburst.
"Aren't you feeling well, Ivy?" he asked. "Looking a little
pale. It's the heat, I suppose. Gosh! Something smells good.
Run in and tell Mother I'm here."
Ivy kept one slender finger between the leaves of her book.
"I'm perfectly well," she replied. "That must be beefsteak and
onions. Ugh!" And she shuddered, and went indoors.
Dad Keller looked after her thoughtfully. Then he went in,
washed his hands, and sat down at table with Ivy and her mother.
"Just a sliver for me," said Ivy, "and no onions.
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