"But I suppose we ought to go and start our house cleaning," Portia said regretfully.
"I guess so, and anyway the mosquitoes are beginning." Julian gave himself a vigorous slap.
"We forgot to put on your Anti-Pest Decoction," Portia told Mrs. Cheever, and slapped herself.
"Well, run along then, run along; you'll be devoured!"
"We have to clean our club, too," Foster said importantly. "Come on, Dave; we haven't got all day."
"Dirt is patient; it will wait," said Mrs. Cheever calmly. "That's one thing."
After they had filled a bucket with water at Mrs. Cheever's pump, Portia and Julian returned to Bellemere. They clattered up the stairs from the plaster-littered wreck of the first floor, to the shabby melancholy of the second, and then to the cozy attic, which was their clubhouse.
It was decidedly in need of attention. Dust was everywhere, and dead spiders dotted the floor. Their old webs hung from the rafters in deserted swags; seeing them, Portia hastily tied a dustcloth around her head; then she went to work on them with her broom. Julian attacked the floor with his.
"Next thing is scrubbing," he said.