"And just a moment," continued Mrs. Anderson, in a confidential tone, beckoning to the slavey. "Go up to the garret and get me that large picture of Mr. Lawrence we had on the piano last time he was here."
"Here, take this one with you," added Aunt Jane, craftily, picking up a photograph of a blond man with curly hair. "It's Jimmy Carlton—he's gone to California and won't be back until spring. Put this one away with the others. And see that Mr. Lawrence's picture is nicely dusted. I want him to feel at home when he comes in and sees it on the piano."
Mortimer, who was busily looking at the photographs, suddenly saw one he recognized.
"Isn't that Flossie Forsythe?" he inquired.
"The very same," answered Mrs. Anderson. "She's staying here, too—she and her chum, Miss Lexington. Lizzie, show Mr. Mortimer the house—and Lizzie," she added confidentially, "recommend the fourth floor front. It ain't no more, but the bath always rents the third easier."
Half a moment later, with Lizzie on the fourth floor, the bell rang again and this time Mrs. Anderson herself was compelled to answer it. A messenger boy with a large box of flowers stepped into the hallway. Mrs. Anderson took the box and looked at the card.
"For Miss Farnum?" she sniffed. "Humph! This is the third time since Sunday she's had flowers from somewhere. Who sent them, boy?"
The snub-nosed Mercury gazed up at her and winked.
"How d'je t'ink I knows de guy's name?" he retorted.