CHAPTER XIX
With Henrietta
THROUGH a long corridor, around several corners and down two flights of back stairs, the formal callers, their hearts in their throats, followed Henrietta, who finally paused at the basement door.
"There," said Henrietta, mysteriously, "you're safe at last. Now listen. You must slip out through the alley, walk slowly round the block, approach the house with dignity, ring the doorbell and present your cards to Simmons."
"We—we can't," faltered Bettie. "He has them now."
"I'll poke them out through the letter slot," laughed resourceful Henrietta. "You're not going to escape that formal call. Wait, your hat's over one ear, Mabel. There now, you're perfectly lovely. Now don't forget to pick up the cards."
Entirely bewildered by Henrietta's pranks, the conventional visitors walked out through the alley, strolled round the block and nervously ascended the front steps. There, sure enough, were eight white cards popping out through the letter slot.
"My goodness!" gasped Jean, "they're not our cards. This one says 'Mrs. Francis Patterson.'"
"And this," said Marjory, picking up another, "says 'John D. Thomas, sole agent for Todd's shoes.'"
"According to mine," giggled Bettie, "I'm Miss Ethel Louise Cartwright. What's on yours, Mabel?"
"'With love from Father,'" groaned Mabel.