“Aren't they! Aluminum, silvered! If your washers are careful they won't get dented, and you can't break 'em.”
Mrs. Bell examined the case and all its fittings with eager attention.
“It's the prettiest thing I ever saw,” she said. “Look, Diantha; here's for soup, here's for water—or wine if you want, all your knives and forks at the side, Japanese napkins up here. Its lovely, but—I should think—expensive!”
Mrs. Weatherstone smiled. “I've had twenty-five of them made. They cost, with the fittings, $100 apiece, $2,500. I will rent them to you, Miss Bell, at a rate of 10 per cent. interest; only $250 a year!”
“It ought to take more,” said Mrs. Bell, “there'll be breakage and waste.”
“You can't break them, I tell you,” said the cheerful visitor, “and dents can be smoothed out in any tin shop—you'll have to pay for it;—will that satisfy you?”
Diantha was looking at her, her eyes deep with gratitude. “I—you know what I think of you!” she said.
Mrs. Weatherstone laughed. “I'm not through yet,” she said. “Look at my next piece of impudence!” This was only on paper, but the pictures were amply illuminating.
“I went to several factories,” she gleefully explained, “here and abroad. A Yankee firm built it. It's in my garage now!”
It was a light gasolene motor wagon, the body built like those old-fashioned moving wagons which were also used for excursions, wherein the floor of the vehicle was rather narrow, and set low, and the seats ran lengthwise, widening out over the wheels; only here the wheels were lower, and in the space under the seats ran a row of lockers opening outside. Mrs. Weatherstone smiled triumphantly.