Brent used the old iron knocker vigorously. They could hear the sound echo in the room beyond. They waited several minutes before Brent knocked again. To their surprise the door was opened almost immediately and by Miss Fields herself.
“H-Hello,” Gale began uncertainly. “I want to talk to you, Miss Fields.”
“I’m sorry, I’m busy,” the woman said.
“I’ve got to talk to you!” Gale insisted. “About Phyllis.”
Grudgingly the woman opened the door farther and Gale took advantage of it to slip within. Brent followed and then there was nothing for Miss Fields to do but lead the way into the cold, dark front room.
Gale shivered as she sat on the edge of an old-fashioned stuffed sofa beside Brent. This was a terrible place, so cold and damp and dark. She wagered no sunlight had been inside the house since Miss Fields took residence there, and that was years and years. Brent reached over and took Gale’s hand in his warm grasp. It seemed to be what she needed.
“Well?” Miss Fields’ voice was frigid and she sat stiffly in her chair.
“I—that is——” Gale began lamely. “We, the girls, are anxious to help Phyllis all we can. We can’t do it without your aid.”
“Well?” Miss Fields repeated.
“We want to know why you won’t help,” Gale said quickly.