It seemed to Marjorie that the Boston lady was a bit heartless, but as the children were not expected to take much part in the conversation anyway, they behaved beautifully during the rather lengthy dinner, and thought out little plans of their own, while their elders were talking.
After dinner, they were excused, and, rather relieved at not being expected to go in the drawing-room again, they went upstairs.
They congregated for a few moments in the playroom, before going to bed, and discussed hastily some plans for the next day.
“I do think Mr. Mortimer was just lovely,” said Midget. “He makes up for his wife. She hasn’t any heart at all, I don’t b’lieve she’d have cared if this house had burned up, ’stead of the Simpsons’!”
“Never mind her, Mopsy,” put in King; “’tisn’t polite to jump on guests that way! But I tell you, girls, to-morrow we’ll stir up the town. I didn’t know that they ought to look after people that get burned out, but we’ll see that they do.”
“How?” queried Kitty, who loved to plan.
“Well, we’ll go and see that landlord man at the hotel, first. He’ll tell us what to do, I guess. You know, we oughtn’t to bother Mr. Mortimer any further in the matter.”
“All right,” said Marjorie, yawning; “and I’m awful sleepy, King. Let’s settle it all in the morning.”
“All right; good-night, girls,” and with a brotherly tweak at their curls, being careful not to pull their “dress-up” hair-ribbons, he was off to his own room.
Next morning, Marjorie came downstairs, ready for action.