"Oh, but Miss Kjelland," insisted the Young Doctor, "this whole thing is absurd! I—I believe you're making it all up, just for a joke! If you're going to be home next Sunday afternoon couldn't I come around and—and laugh the thing out with you?"
"Next Sunday afternoon?" mused Solvei, 123with the manner of one who pauses for an instant to count the days on the fingers. "And this now, this minute, is a Tuesday?" she questioned, still speculatively.
"Yes," agreed the Young Doctor.
"No! It will not be possible!" said Solvei. "I leave!"
"Yes, but when?" asked the Young Doctor.
"Now," said Solvei. "Already it is that I can hear the taxicab adding at the door."
"What?" cried the Young Doctor.
"Under the river!" waved Solvei's clear young voice. "Under the river, Dr. Sam Kendrue!"
Like a gigantic gray-brown wonder bulb the northern winter is dumped down thus at will into the sunny, plushy forcing frame of a New York Pullman to bloom in perfect scent and glory only one day, two days, three days later in some welcoming Southland.
If Solvei Kjelland was astonished, however, at the first bland sights that met her blizzard-habituated eyes it is only fair to say that Mrs. 124Tome Gallien in all her years of experience in every kind of a Southland had never seen any thing that astonished her as much as the sight of Solvei Kjelland.