“In half an hour,” repeated Daisy, feeling the tips of her ears, while her eyes sparkled like the jewels which were shortly to adorn them. Then, going to the bell, she gave a ring. Mr. Goodman, of course, imagined that it was to order the carriage. But when the domestic appeared, Daisy quietly said: “Jane, I wish the boned turkey brought here.” No use to protest――to tell the child that this room was his own private business room, and not the place for luncheon. In the boned turkey was brought, despite Mr. Goodman’s sighs. But it was well-nigh more than he could endure when presently, after carving off three slices, she bade Rover sit up and beg. In an instant the poodle let the doll drop, then, balancing himself on his haunches, gravely opened his mouth. “He never eats anything except boned turkey,” observed Daisy in answer to her father’s look of displeasure. “Bones are bad for his teeth.” Then, while her pet was devouring the dainty morsels: “Pa,” she went on, “you haven’t yet admired Rover’s blue ribbon.” “Umph! he certainly doesn’t look at all like the creature he was when you bought him three years ago,” answered Mr. Goodman. “Well, pa, this summer I will not go to the White Mountains. Remember!” “Why not?” inquired Mr. Goodman, who failed to discern any possible connection between the poodle and this charming summer resort. “Because I want surf-bathing for Rover. I love to throw your cane into the big waves, then see him rush after it and jump up and down in the foam. This season we must go to Long Branch.” Her father made no response, but turned to address a parting word to the superintendent, who presently took leave, highly amused by the child’s bold, pert speeches. “Now, Daisy, for our drive,” said Mr. Goodman, rising stiffly out of the arm-chair. But he had only got as far as the door when another visitor was announced. It proved to be a member of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals――a society which has already done much good, and whose greatest enemy is the ill-judged zeal of some of its own members. “What on earth can he want?” thought Mr. Goodman, motioning to the gentleman to take a seat. “I am come, sir,” began the latter, “to inquire whether you would accept the position of president of our society? We have much to contend with, and gentlemen like yourself――gentlemen of wealth and influence in the community――are needed to assist us.” Mr. Goodman, who in reality cared not a rush how animals were treated, yet was ambitious to be known as a citizen of influence, bowed and replied: “I feel highly honored, sir, and am willing to become your president.” Then, filling anew the wine-glasses, he called out: “Here is success and prosperity to――” “Flywheel Bob,” interrupted Daisy. “For, pa, he is a little boy, isn’t he? A little boy making pennies?”