"What's that?" shouted Mr. Hamshaw, coming to his feet and toppling over backward again. The others stared at him as if he were mad. "How—how many have you—I mean, how many daughters are there?"
"Two!" exclaimed Mrs. Gladding, freezing up immediately. The society young women relaxed into a giggle.
"Then—who—is this a joke?" gasped Mr. Hamshaw, perspiration starting in torrents.
"What do you mean, sir?" demanded Mr. Gladding.
"Where are Marie and Louise?" murmured Mr. Hamshaw.
Just then a trim maid appeared in the doorway—white-capped and aproned.
"Did you ring, Ma'am?—Good Heavens!"
It was Marie!
Mr. Hamshaw fainted without more ado, and the apartment was in an uproar. Everybody thought he was dead, and the Misses Frost promptly duplicated his swooning act.
When Mr. Hamshaw opened his eyes, Marie was standing near by with ammonia and wet towels.