The week before Christmas was one of terrific activity for Bess and Angelina, and of unusually bitter hostility between Professor Gayle and Tom Tench. They were shamefully immune from any sort of Christmas spirit.
Indeed, it seemed impossible to arrange any sort of neighborly celebration. Bess had made mince pies and a plum pudding; Angelina had painted place cards to be used on the dinner table. They had both planned all sorts of jolly little Christmas presents, and a Christmas tree; but where was the gathering to be? Tom Tench refused to set foot in Professor Gayle’s domain; and though the professor could probably be induced to go upstairs, who could foresee the consequences?
Nevertheless, the two dauntless women refused to despair.
“At the very last instant we’ll find some way to reconcile them,” said Angelina. “We’ll have a wonderful Christmas—I know it! Let’s walk into the village this afternoon, and get quantities of holly and mistletoe. Why, my dear, it’s Christmas Eve! They can’t quarrel to-day. Nobody could!”
“They can, though,” said Bess, sadly. “I hear them now, out on the stairs.”
“It’s a shame!” said Angelina. “Of course, Tom Tench is very temperamental, but—my dear, I’m going to have one more talk with him this evening. Alan talked to him, but he only made it worse.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, my dear, that any one who could be boorish and ill tempered under the same roof as you was a—well, all sorts of things.”
“Oh! Did he?” said Bess, after a long silence.
“And he wants us to move away,” Angelina continued. “He says he simply can’t stand this.”