"Is he married?" demanded Zee. "I believe on my soul you have a scheme to marry one of us off to him. Doris, I suppose, for I am too young, and Treasure is too good, and Rosalie is too frivolous." "Does he write fairy stories, or--" "He does not write fairy stories, but I believe he tells them sometimes," laughed their father. "And I have no matrimonial designs on him, I assure you, but I want him to be our friend. It will be a great pleasure to me, and a great help--and I need both." Doris and Rosalie looked swiftly at each other at that, but neither made any comment. When Mr. Artman had gone up-stairs, still laughing with satisfaction, the four of them put their heads together. "Let's think up a dinner fit for a--fit for a--" "A pope," suggested Zee. "Zee, I am surprised at you. Fit for a president." "Since father said spare no expense, I say fried chicken, and I want the wishbone." "A good idea. We'll have fried chicken. Now what else?" "Let's do it up in style, and have courses. Treasure can wait on the table without spilling things, and then come quietly to her place without banging chairs. Soup--" "Yes." "Then chicken, mashed potatoes, and--" "Corn fritters--I've been asking for corn fritters for six weeks." "Well, corn fritters. Salad--" "Olives are easy, and--" "No, let's have a salad like regular folks. Mrs. Andrieson makes lovely thousand island dressing, and I have only one recitation this afternoon so I'll just run down after class and get her to show me how. Then we'll have head lettuce with the dressing, and--" "And coffee with whipped cream, and--" "For dessert--" "Ice-cream. If I do any baking I'll be too hot to look nice. Treasure, you run over to Wilcot's and get a quart of milk and a pint of cream and a half pint of whipping cream, and Rosalie you call up the ice company and have them leave a dime's worth of ice on the first delivery without fail, and I'll freeze it first thing. And, Rosalie, I leave the salad entirely to you." "I will go to Benson's after school and get some flowers," said Treasure. "Mrs. Benson is always glad to give me the carnations that are not fresh enough to sell, but too good to throw away. And we can pick out the best ones." "Isn't that grand? Won't father be pleased?" "And what shall we wear?"