“And can we slide down the ice-house like you used to do? And will Uncle Jimpson call up the doodle-bugs out of the ground like he did when you was a little girl?”
“Listen!” cried Miss Lady suddenly starting up. “What is that?”
From the far end of the street came the sound, “Wuxtry! Here's your Wuxtry! All about—”
“It's just the newsboy I was being like,” said Bertie. “What's the matter? What makes you shake so, Miss Lady?”
Myrtella thrust her head in the door. “Here comes that there Mrs. Ivy running 'cross the yard. She's good fer a hour.”
But Mrs. Ivy did not seem to be good for anything by the time Miss Lady reached her. She was half reclining on a haircloth sofa in the front hall with a bottle of smelling salts to her nose and a newspaper in her hand.
“Oh, my dear!” she managed to gasp. “Such a frightful shock! So utterly unexpected!”
“Do you mean Don?” Miss Lady's lips scarcely moved as she asked the question.
“No, the bank! I was all alone in the house when I heard the boys calling the extras—Ah! my poor weak heart!”
“Brandy?” suggested Miss Lady anxiously.