“Well, you see, it was a hard nut to crack,” he went on, unable to resist delaying the tale in order to tease them a little bit. “There were six children, all of them hungry, tired, and sleepy. To feed them here, would have been a great tax on your servants, especially as you already had house-guests. I found that this town of yours, progressive as it is, has no orphan asylum, and besides, the Simpsons aren’t orphans, anyway.”
“What did you do?” cried Kitty, unable to conceal her interest.
“Why,” said Mr. Mortimer, slowly, as one who knows he is about to create a sensation, “Why, I put them up at the hotel.”
“What!” cried his wife and Miss Larkin in unison, while Kitty looked incredulous, King shouted in glee, and Marjorie giggled.
“Yes,” went on Mr. Mortimer, “it was really the only thing to do. It was that, or the Police Station—-and I’m not sure there is a police station in Rockwell. It seems to be a very small town, and without some of the institutions of a metropolis. But it boasts a fair-sized hotel, which, fortunately, is not over-crowded at the present time.”
King chuckled at this, for the scarcity of patronage at the “Rockwell House” was a local joke.
“And did you really put them there, as regular customers?” asked Marjorie, unable to believe such a proceeding possible.
“Well, I don’t know about regular customers; indeed, the landlord seemed to think the whole deal a little irregular. But, anyway, they’re there for the night.”
“The Simpson children, at a hotel!” cried King, nearly choking in his attempt to restrain his laughter.
And indeed, so incongruous was the idea, after having seen the young people in question, that even Mrs. Mortimer smiled, while Miss Larkin laughed in spite of herself.