Part 20 (1/2)

”Thank goodness, I don't. He and I talk sense to each other,” and Dee scornfully sniffed the air. She and Dum hated the odor of cocoa b.u.t.ter, declaring it made their room smell like an apothecary's shop.

”Why don't you and Dum come in our room for to-night?” I suggested, scenting mischief as well as cocoa b.u.t.ter in the air, since the usually tactful Dee was on the war-path. ”You will be sure to disturb Jessie in the morning if you sleep in here. Come on! I'll sleep three in the bed with you and get in the middle at that,” and so they came, expressing themselves privately as glad to get away from their roommate, who did smell so of cocoa b.u.t.ter and also looked so hideous with her hair done up in those tick-like arrangements and her face s.h.i.+ny with grease.

”Cat! What does she mean by calling Wink a flirt?” raged Dee, who was surely a loyal friend.

”Maybe he is one,” suggested Dum.

”Virginia Tucker, I am tired unto death but I'll challenge you to a boxing match if you say that again.”

”You are no more tired than I am and I'll say it again!” maintained Dum.

”All I said was: 'Maybe he is,' and maybe he is!” No one of the name of Tucker ever took a dare, and the twins crawled out of the great bed where I had taken my place in the middle.

”Girls! Girls! You are so silly,” I cried wearily. ”You haven't your boxing gloves and you know you might beat each other up with your bare fists. This is no fighting matter, Dee, at least nothing to fight Dum about. Go fight Jessie Wilc.o.x! She is the one who has the proof of Wink's ways.”

We were relieved that my reasoning powers quelled the disturbance.

Tweedles got back into bed. The twins very rarely resorted to trial by combat now. It had been their childish method of settling difficulties, as their father had brought them up like boys whose code of honor is to stop fussing and fight it out.

”I can't see why you think it is such an awful thing to call Wink a flirt,” I said, when all danger of a battle had subsided. ”You certainly flirt sometimes yourself.”

”When?” indignantly.

”When you sell coffins to healthy young farmers,” I a.s.serted.

No more from Dee that night.

We were up early the next morning to escort Annie home, so early that no one was stirring, not even the servants. It seemed ridiculous for her to go so early, but the message from her father was one not to be lightly ignored. She had told Miss Maria and the general good-by the night before and Harvie was to drive her home, but when we crept downstairs there was no Harvie to be found; so we made our way out to the stable where Mary and I hitched up. As we drove off, all five of us crowded into a one-seated buggy, we beheld a very sleepy Harvie waving frantically from the boys' wing and vainly entreating us to wait; but we weren't waiting for sleepy-heads that morning, and drove pitilessly away.

There was an air of bustling in the store when we piled out of our small buggy. Mr. Pore was in his s.h.i.+rt sleeves, his gla.s.ses set at a rakish angle on his aristocratic nose and an unaccustomed flush on his usually pale countenance. He was busy pulling things off of the shelves and piling them up on the counters. The clerk (he called him a ”clark,” of course, after the manner of Englishmen), was just as busy.

To my amazement I heard Mr. Pore say to a little boy who had been sent to the store on a hurry call for matches: ”Haven't time to wait on you; go over to Blinker's.”

What did this mean? Actually sending customers to the rival store!

”Father!” exclaimed Annie, as Mr. Pore gave her his usual pecky kiss. ”I didn't know you were going to take stock to-day.”

”Neither did I, my dear.” His tone was a bit softer than I had ever heard it. And ”my dear”! I had never heard him call Annie that before.

”What is it, Father?”

”I have news from England.”

”Not bad news, I hope!”

”Well, yes! I might call it bad news.”

”Oh, Father, I am so sorry!”

”Ahem! My brother, the late baronet, is--er--no more.”