“You can brush your teeth upstairs,” said Aunt Martha, who seemed to find endless last tasks to do in that kitchen, before she should join Grandma with the darning basket, under the big, hot lamp in the dining room. “The hard water for your teeth is in the little pitcher on the washstand.”
“I—I——” Jacqueline faced the same difficulty that at about this hour presented itself to Caroline. “You see—I haven’t got the toothbrush I had on the train. I must have—lost it.”
“Tut, tut!” Aunt Martha clucked again. Then she took heart. “It might have been worse. Better lose your toothbrush than your sweater or your head, for that matter. You’ll have to buy you a new one to-morrow. Lucky you didn’t spend that half-dollar on foolishness. I’ll mix some cooking salt and warm water, and you just rinse your mouth out good. It’s the best we can do for now.”
Left to herself, Jacqueline would probably have “forgotten” to use the tepid salt and water. But she was not left to herself. Aunt Martha went upstairs with her, and stood over her till the mouthwash was properly and thoroughly applied. Then she tucked her into bed beside Nellie, who grunted sleepily and grudgingly moved over to give the newcomer room.
Having tucked Jacqueline in, Aunt Martha kissed her in a businesslike and somewhat absent-minded way.
“Have a good sleep,” she bade, and took the lamp, and went creaking down the stair.
Jacqueline lay in the dark, beneath the sheet, in the room that was warm and breathless. She thought of the zinc tub that she had had to scrub, and the dishes that she should have to wash, and of Aunt Martha, who seemed to have as many rules and standards as if she had dressed in silk and ridden in a limousine, like Great-aunt Eunice.
“I don’t like it here,” thought Jacqueline. “First thing in the morning I’ll hunt up those Gildersleeves.”
Nellie beside her turned sleepily and cooed:
“That you, Jackie?”