“Do we have to take it in the second-story window of the house?” asked Polly, watching the boys as they fastened the rope.
“Oh, we can get it up the stairs all right,” Fred assured her. “It’s only because the loft ladder is so rickety that we’re letting it down this way.”
When they came to take the table out through the doorway, a new obstacle arose. The piece of furniture stuck.
“It must go through,” said Fred, as though that settled it.
“It came through,” declared Margy, in quite as positive a tone. “I saw it come through.”
“Well, it won’t go through now,” said Ward, wiping his red face with his handkerchief. “Try it yourself, if you don’t believe me.”
Jess giggled a little.
“A table couldn’t grow fat, could it?” she suggested. “Maybe that table’s gained in weight or something, since we moved it in.”
“No, I know what the trouble is,” said Polly. “When you brought it up here, it just scraped through the doorway—don’t you remember? The boys had to be extra careful not to get their fingers caught, the space was so narrow between the frame and the table.”
“But it won’t even scrape through now,” Artie objected, frowning.