"Sally," the professor interrupted in cold exasperation, "will you be good enough to project in my direction, what voice you think it best to use, when you speak to me? Will you be so kind? I do not believe that I am growing deaf, but I don't hear you." Sally turned toward him. "Yes, father, I beg your pardon. I said that Margaret Savage wouldn't be interested," she repeated quietly and clearly, "and that there aren't any others." He made an inarticulate noise in his throat. Sally was on the point of shutting the door. "Sally!" he called. The door opened again just far enough to show proper respect. "Yes, father?" "Would your friend Henrietta really be interested in--in what she would probably hear?" The door opened wider. "Oh, yes, she would. I'm sure she would." There was a note of eagerness in Sally's voice. "Well, then, you may bring her. I shall be glad to have you both when you find leisure. But no Margaret Savages, Sally." "Oh, no, father. Thank you very much." After which Sally shut the door and the professor heard her running downstairs. He seemed pleased to hear the noise, which really was not great, and seated himself at his desk again and took up his drawing. And Sally, when she had got downstairs and out of doors, found her exhilaration oozing away rapidly and a depression of spirit taking its place. The interview, on the whole, had been well calculated--it may have been carefully calculated--to take the starch out of a woman grown. Professor Ladue had had much experience at taking the starch out of others. And Sally was not a woman grown, but a child of ten. Her powers of resistance had been equal to the task imposed, fortunately, but she found that the exercise of those powers had left her weak and shaky, and she was sobbing as she ran. If the professor had seen her then,--if he had known just what her feelings were as she sobbed,--would he have been proud of his ability to draw tears? I wonder. "Anyway," Sally sobbed, "I know how he makes mother feel. I know. Oh, mother, mother! But I'll never give in. I won't!" She stopped her convulsive sobbing by the simple process of shutting her teeth over her lower lip, and she dashed away the tears from her eyes as she ran toward the captive alligator, whose continuous roar was growing in her ears. The roar was one of rage. "Oh, dear! I left him too long." And Sally ran up to find Charlie fumbling at the knot of the rope by which he was tied. He cried out at her instantly. "Sally! Don't _want_ to be tied any more. _Aren't_ an alligator. I'm a little boy. Don't want to be tied like an old cow." Sally hastily untied him, comforting him, meanwhile, as well as she could. But Charlie, noticing something unusual in her voice, looked up into her face and saw traces of tears. He immediately burst into tears himself. "Charlie!" cried Sally, fiercely; "Charlie! Laugh, now! Laugh, I tell you." She glanced over the wall. "Here come Fox Sanderson and Henrietta. Laugh!" CHAPTER V