Part 20 (1/2)

Tottie lolled against the mantel, studying Clare and enjoying her gum.

”Huntin' pickle forks,” she replied.

”Aunt Clare!” insisted Barbara, again proffering the drooping nosegay.

”Here! Put this on!”--it was the coat. Clare took one small arm and directed it into a sleeve.

”Do I have to go?” asked Barbara, plaintively.

”Now don't make a fuss!”--crossly. ”Stand still!” Then taking the bouquet away and letting it drop to the floor, ”Here! Here's the other sleeve.” The coat went on.

”Are you coming with me?” persisted Barbara, brightened by the thought.

But Clare did not heed. ”When'll she be back?” She avoided looking at Tottie. ”--Let me b.u.t.ton you, will you?”--this with an impatient tug at the coat.

”Can't say,” answered Tottie, with exasperating indifference.

”Tottie, I'm going to move.”

At that, the landlady started, suddenly concerned. ”Move?” she echoed incredulously.

Clare ran to a sewing-machine that stood against the wall behind the settee. ”Today,” she added; ”--now.”

”Where you goin'?”

”To--to Jersey.”

Barbara, coated and hatted, and with Lolly-Poppins firmly clasped in her arms, followed the younger woman. ”Aunt Clare----”

”Jersey!” scoffed Tottie. ”You sure don't mean Jersey _City_.”

Clare covered her confusion by hunting among the unfinished work on the machine. ”Yes,--Jersey City,” she challenged.

Tottie's eyes narrowed with suspicion. ”Must be pretty bad,” she observed. ”Pretty bad.”

Barbara, planted squarely in Clare's path, again importuned. ”Am I going too, Aunt Clare?”

”No! Sit down! And keep _quiet_!”

The child obeyed. There was comfort in Lolly-Poppins. She lifted the doll to her breast, mothering it.

”What's happened, pettie?” inquired Tottie.

”Nothing--nothing.” Clare folded a garment.

”Nothin'--but you're movin' to Jersey City.--Ha!”

”Well, most of my singing is across the River now, so it's more convenient.”

”Mm!”--it implied satisfaction. Then carelessly, ”Say, here's a letter for you.” And as Clare took it, tearing it open, ”Glad nothin' 's gone wrong.--Is that good news?”

Clare thrust the letter into her dress. ”Oh, just another singing engagement,” she answered. And went back to the heap of muslin on the sewing-machine.