“I thought you’d appreciate what little Arabian Nights I was able to introduce. I bought that screen,” he indicated a sweep of Chinese line and color, “with my eye on you, and that Aladdin’s lamp is yours, of course. You’re to come in here and rub it whenever you like, and your heart’s desire will instantly be vouchsafed to you.”
“What will Eleanor say?” Peter suggested, as David led the way through the corridor and up the tiny stairs which led to the more intricate part of the establishment. “This is her room, didn’t you say, David?” He paused on the threshold of a bedroom done in ivory white and yellow, with all its hangings of a soft golden silk.
“She once said that she wanted a yellow room,” David said, “a daffy-down-dilly room, and I’ve 173 tried to get her one. I know last year that Maggie Lou child refused to have yellow curtains in that flatiron shaped sitting-room of theirs, and Eleanor refused to be comforted.”
A wild whoop in the below stairs announced Jimmie; and Beulah arrived simultaneously with the tea tray. Jimmie was ecstatic when the actual function of the place was explained to him.
“Headquarters is the one thing we’ve lacked,” he said; “a place of our own, hully gee! It makes me feel almost human again.”
“You haven’t been feeling altogether human lately, have you, Jimmie?” Margaret asked over her tea cup.
“No, dear, I haven’t.” Jimmie flashed her a grateful smile. “I’m a bad egg,” he explained to her darkly, “and the only thing you can do with me is to scramble me.”
“Scrambled is just about the way I should have described your behavior of late,—but that’s Gertrude’s line,” David said. “Only she doesn’t seem to be taking an active part in the conversation. Aren’t you Jimmie’s keeper any more, Gertrude?”
“Not since she’s come back from abroad,” Jimmie muttered without looking at her. 174
“Eleanor’s taken the job over now,” Peter said. “She’s made him swear off red ink and red neckties.”