At this moment the rattling of the front-door knob and an imperative knocking brought Mrs. Jane to her feet.
“There’s Hattie, now, and that door’s locked,” she cried, hurrying into the hall.
When she returned a moment later Harriet Blaisdell and Bessie were with her.
There was about Mrs. Harriet Blaisdell a new, indescribable air of commanding importance. To Mr. Smith she appeared to have grown inches taller.
“Well, I do hope, Jane, now you’ll live in a decent place,” she was saying, as they entered the room, “and not oblige your friends to climb up over a grocery store.”
“Well, I guess you can stand the grocery store a few more days, Hattie,” observed Frank Blaisdell dryly. “How long do you s’pose we’d live—any of us—if ’twa’n’t for the grocery stores to feed us? Where’s Jim?”
“Isn’t he here? I told him I was coming here, and to come right over himself at once; that the very first thing we must have was a family conclave, just ourselves, you know, so as to plan what to give out to the public.”
“Er—ah—” Mr. Smith was on his feet, looking somewhat embarrassed; “perhaps, then, you would rather I were not present at the—er—family conclave.”
“Nonsense!” shouted Frank Blaisdell.
“Why, you are one of the family, ’seems so,” cried Mellicent.