from my wife; she promised to call as soon as she gets up there and let me know how things are."
"That won't be for some time yet, will it?''
He glanced at the clock across the room. "Not much before ten-thirty or eleven, I guess."
She said, "I'm going to squeeze out some orange juice for the two of you, for the morning, as soon as I finish putting the last of these away. I'll leave it in a glass inside the Frigidaire."
"Aw, you don't have to bother doing that "
"Doesn't take a minute; Cookie really should have it daily, you know. It's the best thing for them." She returned to the kitchen again.
Moran shook his head to himself. What a paragon.
Cookie was in there with him just then, playing around. Then a minute or so later he got up and went to the hall door, stood there looking out, talking to her. She'd evidently wandered out there herself, from the kitchen door at the other end of it, while she finished drying the last of the utensils. Margaret had that habit, too, of perambulating around when she was in the last stages of drying.
Cookie was standing perfectly still, watching her. He heard him say, "What're you doing that for?"
"To dry it off, dear," she answered with cheery forthrightness.
Moran heard it only subconsciously, so to speak, with the fraction of those faculties not absorbed in his paper.
She came in a moment later, painstakingly wiping the blade of a small sharp-edge fruit knife that she'd evidently just used to cut and prepare the oranges.
Cookie's eyes followed the deft motions of her hands with that hypnotic concentration children can bring to bear on the most trivial actions at times. Once he turned his head and glanced back into the hallway, somewhere beyond the radius of the door, where she had been just now, with equally rapt absorption. Then back to her again.
"TTiere, all through," she said to him playfully, flicking the end of the dishcloth toward him. "Now HI play with you for five or ten minutes, and then we'll see about putting you to bed."
Moran looked up at this point, out of sheer sense of duty. "Sure there's nothing I can do to help?" he asked, hoping against hope the answer would be no.
It was. "You go right back to your paper," she said with friendly authoritativeness. "TTiis young man and I are going to have a little game of hide-and-seek."
She was certainly a godsend. Why, when it came to getting your paper read without distraction, she was even better to have around than Margaret. Margaret seemed to think you could read your paper and carry on a conversation with her at one and the same time. So either you had to be a surly bear or you had to read each paragraph twice, and slowly, once as a gentle hint and once for the meaning.
Not that he was being disloyal about it; rather have Margaret, bless her, conversational interruptions or not.
Ada tried to silence the buzzing party guests. "Shh! Be quiet just a minute, everybody. Margaret's out in the hall, trying to call her husband in the city and tell him about it." She took the added precaution of drawing the two sliding parlor doors together.
"From here?" one of the younger girls piped up incredulously. "For heaven's sake, that costs money!"
"I know, but she's all upset about it, and 1 don't blame her. Who could have done such a thing? Why, that's a horrible trick to play on anyone!"
One of the matrons said with unshakable local pride, "I know noliody up here in our community would be capable of it. We all think too much of Delia Peabody and her girls." Then immediately spoiled it by adding, "Not even Cora Hopkins. ..."
"And they signed my name to it!" Ada protested dramatically. "It must be somebody that knows the family."
"And mine, too, isn't that what she said?" Dr. Bixby added. "Where'd they hear about me?"
Half-frightened little glances were exchanged here and there about the room, as though somebody had just told a chilling ghost story. One of the giris, perchei on the windowsill, looked behind her into
"That won't be for some time yet, will it?''
He glanced at the clock across the room. "Not much before ten-thirty or eleven, I guess."
She said, "I'm going to squeeze out some orange juice for the two of you, for the morning, as soon as I finish putting the last of these away. I'll leave it in a glass inside the Frigidaire."
"Aw, you don't have to bother doing that "
"Doesn't take a minute; Cookie really should have it daily, you know. It's the best thing for them." She returned to the kitchen again.
Moran shook his head to himself. What a paragon.
Cookie was in there with him just then, playing around. Then a minute or so later he got up and went to the hall door, stood there looking out, talking to her. She'd evidently wandered out there herself, from the kitchen door at the other end of it, while she finished drying the last of the utensils. Margaret had that habit, too, of perambulating around when she was in the last stages of drying.
Cookie was standing perfectly still, watching her. He heard him say, "What're you doing that for?"
"To dry it off, dear," she answered with cheery forthrightness.
Moran heard it only subconsciously, so to speak, with the fraction of those faculties not absorbed in his paper.
She came in a moment later, painstakingly wiping the blade of a small sharp-edge fruit knife that she'd evidently just used to cut and prepare the oranges.
Cookie's eyes followed the deft motions of her hands with that hypnotic concentration children can bring to bear on the most trivial actions at times. Once he turned his head and glanced back into the hallway, somewhere beyond the radius of the door, where she had been just now, with equally rapt absorption. Then back to her again.
"TTiere, all through," she said to him playfully, flicking the end of the dishcloth toward him. "Now HI play with you for five or ten minutes, and then we'll see about putting you to bed."
Moran looked up at this point, out of sheer sense of duty. "Sure there's nothing I can do to help?" he asked, hoping against hope the answer would be no.
It was. "You go right back to your paper," she said with friendly authoritativeness. "TTiis young man and I are going to have a little game of hide-and-seek."
She was certainly a godsend. Why, when it came to getting your paper read without distraction, she was even better to have around than Margaret. Margaret seemed to think you could read your paper and carry on a conversation with her at one and the same time. So either you had to be a surly bear or you had to read each paragraph twice, and slowly, once as a gentle hint and once for the meaning.
Not that he was being disloyal about it; rather have Margaret, bless her, conversational interruptions or not.
Ada tried to silence the buzzing party guests. "Shh! Be quiet just a minute, everybody. Margaret's out in the hall, trying to call her husband in the city and tell him about it." She took the added precaution of drawing the two sliding parlor doors together.
"From here?" one of the younger girls piped up incredulously. "For heaven's sake, that costs money!"
"I know, but she's all upset about it, and 1 don't blame her. Who could have done such a thing? Why, that's a horrible trick to play on anyone!"
One of the matrons said with unshakable local pride, "I know noliody up here in our community would be capable of it. We all think too much of Delia Peabody and her girls." Then immediately spoiled it by adding, "Not even Cora Hopkins. ..."
"And they signed my name to it!" Ada protested dramatically. "It must be somebody that knows the family."
"And mine, too, isn't that what she said?" Dr. Bixby added. "Where'd they hear about me?"
Half-frightened little glances were exchanged here and there about the room, as though somebody had just told a chilling ghost story. One of the giris, perchei on the windowsill, looked behind her into
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