"One would think I was a sort of supreme court from the way Dad
refers all questions to me. But I warn you, Mr. Porter; my 'yes' or
'no' makes little difference in his opinions."
"You are my supreme court, and they do," declared Dad.
"I'm sure they do," said Mr. Porter,
"When the novelty of having me with you has worn off, you'll be your
same old domineering self, Daddy dear."
"Domineering! Hear the minx! I'm a regular lamb, Porter. That
reminds me: When are you going to California!"
"I hadn't thought. That is, I had thought . . . That is, I've wished
. . . I mean I've wondered . . . I hope you won't think me
presumptuous, Mr. Middleton, but I've wondered if you'd allow me to
go on the same train with you and Miss Middleton."
"Why, my dear boy, we'd be delighted. Wouldn't we, Elizabeth!"
Mr. Porter turned to me. "You see, Miss Middleton, you are the
supreme court, after all," his lips said. But his eyes told me why
he wanted to go on the same train with Dad and me, told me plainer
than words. Perhaps I should have remembered I had never spoken to
him till that morning, but . . .
"The supreme court congratulates the inferior court on the wisdom of
its decision," I said, with an elaborate bow to Dad to hide my
confusion.
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