“Not surveyors, survivors.”
“Janet! Say good-night to Mr. Martin and run upstairs.”
This time the command was unmistakable. Janet became aware of tall ominous figures emerging from the surrounding dusk.
“Good-night!” she cried hastily, and ran.
“I’m afraid Janet’s manners are terrible,” Phyllis said. “She ought to have shaken hands, but I don’t like to call her back now, she’ll catch more cold.”
Two other forms appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Is to-morrow the Picnic?” they called anxiously.
Martin was still sitting on the floor, musing over the disaster. Janet halted halfway up and shouted. “He says you said Damn the Picnic.”
Sylvia and Rose burst into snivels. There was a moment of difficult pause. Martin realized that something was happening and began collecting the train.
“You promised the Picnic for to-morrow,” he said, looking up from where he was kneeling.