music and the welter of hilarious voices streamed out around them into the quiet country night.
Her heart didn't drop, her overnight bag did instead with a slap to the porch floor. "Mother," she gasped soundlessly.
The other figure in the paper party cap was Ada. "Margaret, you darling! How did you remember it was my birthday? Oh, what a dandy surprise, I couldn't have asked for anything "
They were talking at cross-purposes, the three of them. "Oh, but Ada " Margaret Moran was remonstrating in a shaky, smothered voice, still unmanageable from the unexpected shock. "How could you do it that way! If you knew what I went through on the way up
here! No, mother's health is one thing I don't think you have any right to joke about. Frank won't like it a bit when he hears it!"
A puzzled silence had fallen over the two standing in the doorway. They turned to look after her. She was inside in the crepe-paper-lighted hallway now. The vivacious old lady asked Ada with a birdlike, quizzical cock of her head, "What does she mean?"
Ada asked at the same time, "What on earth is she talking about?"
"I got a telegram from you at one this afternoon. You told me mother'd had another of her attacks, and to come at once. You even mentioned Dr. Bixby's name in it " Margaret Moran had begun to cry a little with indignation, a natural reaction from the long strain she had been under.
The mother said, "Dr. Bixby's in there now; I was just dancing a cakewalk with him, wasn't I, Ada?"
Her sister's face had gone white under the flush of the party excitement. She took a step backward. "I never in the world sent you any telegram!" she gasped.
Moran surreptitiously stuck a thumb under the waistband of his trousers to gain a little additional slack. "Margaret couldn't have done any better herself," he said wholeheartedly, "and when I say that, I'm giving you all the praise I know how.
"Itll make her your friend for life when I tell her how you walked in here and saved the day. You must come over and have dinner with the two of us I mean without working for it when she gets back."
She eyed the empty plates with a cook's instinctive approval, flattered to see that her eff'orts have not been sUghted. "Thank you," she said, "I'd love to. I don't get as much home cooking as I might myself. I've had a room at the Women's Club since I've had this school job.
and there are no facilities. Before then, of course, at home, we all took turns in the kitchen."
She rose slowly, stacked the dishes together. "Now you just sit there and take it easy, Mr. Moran, or inside in the next room or wherever you please. 111 get through these in no time."
"You could leave them in there," he remonstrated. "Margaret's cleaning lady comes tomorrow, and shell do them."
"Oh, well," she shrugged deprecatingly, "it's not much trouble, and one thing I can't bear to see left lying around is dirty dishes, in my own or anybody else's kitchen. I'll be all finished before you know it."
She was going to make some lucky stiff a mighty fine little wife one of these days, Moran thought, watching her bustle back and forth; the wonder of it was she hadn't already. What was the matter with the young fellows around these parts, didn't they have eyes in their heads?
He went into the living room, turned on the double-globed reading lamp and sat down with his paper, to give it a second and more exhaustive going-over. It was just as good as though Margaret were home, really; you could hardly tell the difference. Except maybe that she didn't say, "Don't" to Cookie quite so often. Maybe too much of that wasn't good for a kid. She was a teacher, she ought to know.
She came out to the dining-room door one time and spoke to him, drying a large dish between her hands with a cloth. "Nearly through now," she announced cheerfully. "How're you two getting along in here?"
"Fine," said Moran, looking back across his shoulder at her from the semireclining slope the chair gave him. "I'm waiting to hear
Her heart didn't drop, her overnight bag did instead with a slap to the porch floor. "Mother," she gasped soundlessly.
The other figure in the paper party cap was Ada. "Margaret, you darling! How did you remember it was my birthday? Oh, what a dandy surprise, I couldn't have asked for anything "
They were talking at cross-purposes, the three of them. "Oh, but Ada " Margaret Moran was remonstrating in a shaky, smothered voice, still unmanageable from the unexpected shock. "How could you do it that way! If you knew what I went through on the way up
here! No, mother's health is one thing I don't think you have any right to joke about. Frank won't like it a bit when he hears it!"
A puzzled silence had fallen over the two standing in the doorway. They turned to look after her. She was inside in the crepe-paper-lighted hallway now. The vivacious old lady asked Ada with a birdlike, quizzical cock of her head, "What does she mean?"
Ada asked at the same time, "What on earth is she talking about?"
"I got a telegram from you at one this afternoon. You told me mother'd had another of her attacks, and to come at once. You even mentioned Dr. Bixby's name in it " Margaret Moran had begun to cry a little with indignation, a natural reaction from the long strain she had been under.
The mother said, "Dr. Bixby's in there now; I was just dancing a cakewalk with him, wasn't I, Ada?"
Her sister's face had gone white under the flush of the party excitement. She took a step backward. "I never in the world sent you any telegram!" she gasped.
Moran surreptitiously stuck a thumb under the waistband of his trousers to gain a little additional slack. "Margaret couldn't have done any better herself," he said wholeheartedly, "and when I say that, I'm giving you all the praise I know how.
"Itll make her your friend for life when I tell her how you walked in here and saved the day. You must come over and have dinner with the two of us I mean without working for it when she gets back."
She eyed the empty plates with a cook's instinctive approval, flattered to see that her eff'orts have not been sUghted. "Thank you," she said, "I'd love to. I don't get as much home cooking as I might myself. I've had a room at the Women's Club since I've had this school job.
and there are no facilities. Before then, of course, at home, we all took turns in the kitchen."
She rose slowly, stacked the dishes together. "Now you just sit there and take it easy, Mr. Moran, or inside in the next room or wherever you please. 111 get through these in no time."
"You could leave them in there," he remonstrated. "Margaret's cleaning lady comes tomorrow, and shell do them."
"Oh, well," she shrugged deprecatingly, "it's not much trouble, and one thing I can't bear to see left lying around is dirty dishes, in my own or anybody else's kitchen. I'll be all finished before you know it."
She was going to make some lucky stiff a mighty fine little wife one of these days, Moran thought, watching her bustle back and forth; the wonder of it was she hadn't already. What was the matter with the young fellows around these parts, didn't they have eyes in their heads?
He went into the living room, turned on the double-globed reading lamp and sat down with his paper, to give it a second and more exhaustive going-over. It was just as good as though Margaret were home, really; you could hardly tell the difference. Except maybe that she didn't say, "Don't" to Cookie quite so often. Maybe too much of that wasn't good for a kid. She was a teacher, she ought to know.
She came out to the dining-room door one time and spoke to him, drying a large dish between her hands with a cloth. "Nearly through now," she announced cheerfully. "How're you two getting along in here?"
"Fine," said Moran, looking back across his shoulder at her from the semireclining slope the chair gave him. "I'm waiting to hear
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