Her father had just reached his office when Kitty got him on the phone. She made her tone as sprightly as possible when she asked, “Dad, how about having Hazel over to dinner tonight?” His voice had an eager quality when he answered, “Oh, fine, Kitten! It wouldn’t be too much bother?” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Illustration: _“How About Asking Hazel Over Tonight?”_] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ “No, indeed! I’ve been wanting to for a long time. And this evening I haven’t another thing to do. Will you ask her?” “Maybe you’d better phone her. I won’t have an opportunity to see her till lunch, and by that time she may have made other plans.” “O.K., old dear, just as you say.” “Tell her I’ll call for her at six.” Kitty thought as she dialed the hospital that her father had let slip an important point. In mentioning that he wouldn’t see Hazel till noon, he implied that they must eat together every day. The thought made her feel very happy. When Kitty finally got in touch with Hazel and gave her the invitation she eagerly accepted. “Is she comin’?” Jane wanted to know as she stood in the doorway, awaiting the answer. “She and Dad were as pleased as two kids being invited to a picnic. We’ll have to give them a swell feed, Jane, and see if this improves his appetite.” Kitty dashed off to the market to see what she could get for their dinner. She did a weekly shopping in Bayport on Saturdays. In order to save gasoline she tried to manage the rest of the time with what she could pick up on the island. It proved to be a busy day for both her and Jane. While the negro girl was busy in the kitchen, Kitty tried to brighten up the rather shabby furnishings of their little cottage. She reminded herself that it was wartime and one must make the best of undesirable living conditions. They had brought their own silver and linens from their old home on the Gulf coast, and with these she made the table look very pretty. The bowl of nasturtiums in the center gave quite a festive air. “Ain’t no use to worry ’bout de looks, Miss Kit,” Jane consoled her when she arranged and re-arranged the flowers to get the right effect. “Us make de grub taste good enough an’ dey won’t think ’bout nothin’ else. Dese ain’t no times to worry ’bout de frills o’ livin’.” Kitty had often thought that Jane, with a little more education, would have made a fine philosopher. Certainly she would never die of worrying over what couldn’t be helped. Kitty wore sweater suits so constantly she felt really dressed up when she put on one of her old silk prints and let her hair down from its tight ringlets to fall in soft auburn curls about her face. It seemed to belong that way with the flowered print.