It was upwards of an hour before she returned, walking quickly and very erect, with her head up and shoulders back, her eyes suspiciously bright, the spots of colour in her cheeks blazing scarlet, her mouth set and hard, the little work-worn hands at her sides clenched tightly as if for self-control. Even old Sam, who had returned from the depôt after missing Blinky at the bank--even he, blind as he ordinarily was, saw instantly that something was wrong with the child.
"Why, Betty!" he cried in solicitude as she flung into the store--"Betty, dear, what's the matter?"
For an instant she seemed speechless. Then she tore the hat from her head and cast it regardlessly upon the counter. "Father!" she cried. "Father!"--and gulped to down her emotion. "Can you get me some money?"
Her foot came down on the floor impatiently. "Can you get me some money?" she repeated in a breath.
"Well--er--how much, Betty?" He tried to touch her, to take her to his arms, but she moved away, her sorry little figure quivering from head to feet.
"Enough," she said, half sobbing--"enough to buy a dress--a nice dress--a dress that will surprise folks--"
"But tell me what the matter is, Betty. Wanting a dress would never upset you like this."
She whipped the cracked and crumpled card from her pocket and pushed it into his hand. "Look at that!" she bade him, and turned away, struggling with all her might to keep back the tears.
He read, his old face softening. "Josie Lockwood's party, eh? And she's sent you an invitation. Well, that was kind of her, very kind."
She swung upon him in a fury. "No, it was not kind. It was mean... It was mean!"
"Oh, Betty," he begged in consternation, "don't say that. I'm sure--"
"Oh, you don't know... I heard the girls talking in the post-office-- Angle Tuthill and Mame Garrison and Bessie Gabriel... I was round by the boxes where they couldn't see me, but I could hear them, and they were laughing because I was invited. They said the reason Josie did it was because she knew I didn't have anything to wear, and she wanted to hear what excuse I'd make for not going. Ah, I heard them!"
"Oh, but Betty, Betty," he pleaded; "don't you mind what they say. Don't--"
"But I do mind; I can't help mindin'. They're mean." She paused, her features hardening. "I'm going to that party," she declared tensely: "I'm goin' to that party and--and I'm goin' to have a dress to go in, too! I don't care what I do--I'm goin' to have that dress!"