On the way out Tacks left a small parcel with one of the hall boys with instructions to hand it to the janitor as soon as possible.
"It's a little present for the janitor in loving remembrance of his memory," Tacks explained with something that sounded like a catch in his voice.
"Hasn't that boy a lovely disposition?" Aunt Martha beamed on Tacks; "to be so forgiving to the janitor after the horrid man had sworn at him and blamed him for putting a cat in the dumb waiter and sending it up to the nervous lady on the seventh floor who abominated cats and who screamed and fell over in a tub of suds when she opened the dumb-waiter door to get her groceries and the cat jumped at her. Mercy! how can the boy be so generous!"
Tacks bore up bravely under this panegyric of praise and his face wore a rapt expression which amounted almost to religious fervor.
"What did you give the janitor, Angel-Face?" I asked.
"Only just another remembrance," Tacks answered, solemnly. "I happened to find a poor, little dead mouse under the gas range and I thought I'd farewell the janitor with it."
Aunt Martha sighed painfully and Uncle Peter chuckled inwardly like a mechanical toy hen.
On the train out to Jiggersville Clara J. was a picture entitled, "The Joy of Living"—kind regards to Mrs. Pat Campbell; Ibsen please write.
As for me with every revolution of the wheels I grew more and more like a half portion of chipped beef.
"Oh, John!" said Clara J., her voice shrill with excitement; "I forgot to tell you! I left my key with Mother, and she's going to superintend the packing of the furniture this afternoon. By evening she expects to have everything loaded in the van and we won't have to wait any time for our trunks and things!"