Francie Read Free

are you going, Pop?”
    â€œEngland at first, maybe the Near East later. We’re expanding, following a plan we had under way before the war.”
    â€œOh. Anything to do with politics? In Industrial History yesterday Miss Whitcombe said I ought to ask you more questions about things.”
    â€œDid she?” Pop looked surprised and pathetically gratified. “That was nice of her,” he said, “but never mind all that just now. The point is, I’ll be away from this part of the world for a long time. I don’t know how you feel about this arrangement we’ve had with your Aunt Norah; probably you’ve never had any particular idea one way or the other. But I’m getting dissatisfied. I’ve been worrying about it. Among other considerations it appears to me I might as well not have a daughter at all, for all the good we get out of each other. Did you ever think of that?”
    Francie reflected that there was something in what he said; she remembered having been jealous, in earlier years, because most of her friends had fathers to take them out on picnics during vacationtime, and she didn’t; her father was always away. But she had got used to the situation long since. “It hasn’t been so good,” she admitted thoughtfully. “I thought it was the way you wanted it, though.”
    â€œI did want it for a while. There wasn’t much else to do while you were a kid, now was there?” He stood up and walked across the room and back. She noticed for the hundredth time what a forceful person he seemed. “Francie, what would you say to leaving Jefferson?” he demanded suddenly.
    â€œLeave Jefferson?” She was aghast. “Why, Pop, I couldn’t right now. I just couldn’t. I’m almost sure to be Beauty Queen this year. I mean, of course, I will leave when it’s time to go to State, but if you mean right now—”
    â€œI do mean right now, Francie.” He looked sorry for her agitation, but determined anyway. “I’ve gone over and over it in my mind and this is the best way.”
    â€œYou mean you want to take me with you to England?” she asked, as the horrid realization swept through her. Little as she knew her father in the everyday sense, she remembered of old how sudden and determined and unexpected he could be. She could recall one time when she’d been a little girl and Pop had made an abrupt decision about a vacation for all of them. It had been a trip her mother had not wanted to make, but once Pop had decided, there’d been no shaking him. He could be mild and indulgent and considerate for months on end, but when he really gripped a decision between his teeth, no one had ever been known to jar him free from it. Francie had a most unpleasant suspicion that this was going to be one of those times.
    But it couldn’t—it mustn’t be!
    â€œPop, I couldn’t,” she said wildly. “You don’t understand. I’m in my last term at school. The last term is very important . I’m going to be Beauty Queen, very likely, if Amy Muller isn’t elected—and I don’t think she will be. And I’ve got to go to Prom. And examinations, and college, and—Pop, you don’t know what you’re saying.” She paused, panting. She could think of nothing but what she was threatened with losing.
    â€œI do know. I know how hard it is, but I’ve decided it’s best.” That was his best bulldog manner. “You can make up your work in some school over there; I’ve asked the people at the office and they say you’ll be way ahead of the others by the time we get back. The thing is, honey, I’ll be in England close to a year. Possibly longer. You’re growing up. Sooner or later we’ve got to get together; I want to see something of you before you run off and leave me; you’ll be getting married before you know it. And you ought to