Part 5 (1/2)

”I see,” responded Mr. Rudd, suddenly grown quietly dignified, as he surveyed this jocular young man whom he remembered as a youth whom he had frequently longed to thrash, ”that in spite of the pressure of years and responsibility you happily retain your boyish characteristics.”

Young Mr. Chase regarded Uncle Timothy for an instant without speaking.

Then he turned to Sally with a quite audible comment: ”The old gentleman hasn't changed much, has he? Keep him with you all the time?”

”We couldn't live without him,” was Sally's quick reply. Uncle Timothy, catching the answer, smiled to himself. It would take more than the advent of these gay comets in his sky to disturb his content in the stars which revolved loyally about him.

The two hours which followed were occupied in instructing the guests how to bestow themselves in the unaccustomed limitations of the Lane apartment without doing themselves physical injury. The Chases evidently felt that the surest way to show their appreciation of the hospitality offered them was to be uninterruptedly mirthful at its character.

”For goodness' sake, Sally,” cried Mrs. Chase, with a little shriek, ”you're not going to put us both in here! Neil, don't you dare to come in until I get out--there isn't room. Where shall I hang my coat? Oh, is there a closet behind that curtain? Six hooks! Neil, you can't have but one of them--I want the rest. Sally, how did you ever come to it, after that great roomy old house of yours? I should suffocate in a week! It's lucky we're going on to-morrow. I couldn't change my gowns in here.”

”I thought you were an experienced traveller,” retorted Sally, lightly enough. She had known quite what to expect from Dorothy; it did not disturb her seriously. ”Good travellers can tuck themselves away anywhere. Besides, this room is palatial in comparison with Uncle Timothy's. There's not room for a dressing-table in his. You should be thankful that you have one, and a mirror. The mirror's the one real essential for Dorothy Eustis Chase. I made sure you had that.”

”It's just like you not to own up that you're cramped.” Dorothy was taking full advantage of the mirror pointed out. Her elaborately waved chestnut locks received her full attention for a s.p.a.ce, and Sally slipped away to the kitchen.

They sat down presently to something which was not a dinner, and proved decidedly more than a lunch. The guests ate ravenously, but did not forget to take note of their surroundings. Neil's back was too close to the wall for Sally to squeeze by him when she rose to change the plates, and this amused him very much. ”Two more guests, and the room would burst, wouldn't it?” he suggested, as he handed a plate at her request.

”I didn't know they ever made a flat as small as this”

”They make them much smaller,” declared Max, with a sparkle of the eye.

”I a.s.sure you we have never felt crowded--until to-night.”

”Oh, don't mind us!” Dorothy cried. ”You see, we've just come from visiting the Grandons, and their house is so enormous it makes everything seem small. It was a day's journey across our room, and Neil's dressing-room was as big as this whole flat. It's a lovely place to visit, they do everything for you. They have so many servants, and such well trained ones, you absolutely forget how to wait on yourself.”

”How long were you there?” Alec inquired.

”Why, from Wednesday to--when did we leave there, Neil? Oh, yes, it must have been yesterday morning.”

”Three days? No wonder you became too used to such luxury to be able to come down to waiting on yourselves.” And Alec applied himself to his plate with a sense of having evened things up with Mrs. Chase in return for her ”smart Alec.”

It was Sally who kept matters running smoothly, her head throbbing all the while. When the Chases had been finally tucked away--still ironic--in their quarters, and the rest of the family had bestowed themselves in the s.p.a.ce belonging to them, she sat down by the open window, too weary to undress. Here Bob, emerging from Uncle Timothy's room in search of belongings necessary to his comfort, found her.

”Why don't you go to bed?” he asked.

”I'm going. But I'd like to sit here all night.”

”You'll catch cold by that window. Head still ache?”

”I suppose so. I'm too tired to feel anything any more.”

”Cheer up. I'll be around bright and early and do everything I know.”

”Of course you will, Bobby,” and she held out her hand. He grasped it.

”Your hand's hot,” he observed. ”Aren't sick, are you?”

”Of course not. I'm never sick. Go to bed, dear. I'll be all right in the morning.”

Optimistically, Bob thought she would. The next morning, however, the Sally who confronted him looked so far from herself, as she went slowly about the little kitchen, that he was worried, and said so.

”Never mind. Don't say anything. After breakfast I can rest.”