It was quite evident that the story of Mr. Pendleton’s misfortune was spreading all through certain strata of Milton society. Although Ruth was sorry for this fact, she could only hope that Mr. Howbridge’s clerk could uproot some information regarding the robbery of the Kolbeck and Roods warehouse that would explain away the suspicion attached to the unfortunate man.
For neither she nor Agnes, nor Neale nor Luke, believed that a man like Oscar Pendleton could be guilty of robbery. And while the injured man was confined to the house the Kenways and Neale showed in every way they could their friendliness for the Pendletons. Of course, Luke Shepard had gone back to college and could have no part in what the others tried to do for the unfortunate family.
All their thought was not given to this matter, however. That dance at Carrie Poole’s loomed, before Agnes at least, as one of the most important things that had ever entered into her life. Even Ruth put special importance upon the affair, and that for more than one reason.
The Pooles had engaged a string band from the city, a decorator from the same big town, and a famous caterer. There would be invited guests from Washington, including members of some of the foreign embassies and their wives and daughters. For Carrie Poole’s father during the last eighteen months had served the district in Washington as representative; and the family was, as Agnes said, “cutting a wide swath.”
“But ’tis borne on my mind,” Mrs. McCall, the Corner House housekeeper declared, “that them’s not fittin’ frocks for a pair o’ young leddies to wear on a cold winter night. Hech! They are like gossamer, so they are.”
“Now, dear Mrs. Mac!” cried Agnes, “don’t carp and criticize. Aren’t they pretty?” and she pirouetted before the good matron to display her own new dress.
“Pretty enough for the stage. But nae sensible,” sniffed the housekeeper. “I’m astonished at Ruth, so I am.”
“Now, don’t!” gasped Agnes. “Don’t criticize Ruth when for once in her life she is thinking more of her good looks than of her good sense.”
“Ye’ve said muckle when ye say that,” sniffed Mrs. MacCall. “There is nae guid sense in it. And both of ye hoarse as crows with a cold.”
“Am not!” denied Agnes hastily.