THE P. U. L.
“What upon earth are you doing!” exclaimed Toinette, as she opened Ruth’s door, in response to the “come in” which followed her knock, and stood transfixed upon the threshold at the spectacle she beheld.
“Cleaning house, to be sure. Didn’t you ever do it?”
“Well, not exactly that way,” was Toinette’s reply.
Ruth threw back her head and gave a merry peal of laughter.
“It is rather a novel way, I will admit, but, you see, I hate to do things just exactly as everybody else does, so I sailed right in, head over ears. To tell the truth, now I’m in, I wish it wasn’t quite so deep,” and Ruth cast a look strongly savoring of despair at the conglomeration surrounding her.
She was seated in the middle of the floor, and almost buried beneath the contents of every drawer and closet in the room. Not only her own, but Edith’s belongings, too, had been dumped in a promiscuous heap on the floor, and such a sea of underclothing, stockings, shoes, dresses, waists, jackets, coats, hats, gloves, collars, ties, ribbons, veils, dressing-sacques, golf-capes and belts, to say nothing of the contents of both their jewel boxes, no pen can describe.
Not content with the contents, the drawers, too, had been dragged out to be dusted, and were standing on end all about her, a veritable rampart of defence.
“I shouldn’t think you would know where to begin,” said Toinette.
“I don’t, and I think I’ll leave the whole mess for Helma to tidy up in the morning,” and up jumped Ruth, to give the last stroke to the disorder by overturning the tray of pins and hairpins which she had been sorting when Toinette entered.