Mrs. Summers swung the top of the trunk open deftly.
“We can have Mr. Klingen, the locksmith, up in the morning to fix that lock before we put the trunk away in the attic for the winter,” she said, smiling. “Now, which is the suit you want to wear tonight? This blue one right on top? We’ve got to hurry a little because it’s getting late. And I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve got three big pans of scalloped oysters down stairs piping hot and just ready to be eaten, and I want you to help me carry them over to the church. They’re a surprise. They don’t know they’re going to have scalloped oysters. They think they’re only having roast lamb and mashed potatoes, but I just thought I’d have a little celebration on my own hook, so I made these without telling. Do you like scalloped oysters?”
“Do I like scalloped oysters?” beamed Murray, forgetting his rôle of outlaw, and realizing his empty stomach. “Lead me to ’em.”
His hostess smiled appreciatively.
“All right, you hurry then, and I’ll have your clothes up in a jiffy! Here’s the bath-room, and this is the hot water.” She turned the faucet on swiftly. “And this wheel controls the shower. Bob always liked a shower. Do you?”
“I certainly do!” said Murray fervently.
“Well, now, hurry up! I’ll have your suit up in no time. Let’s run a race!”
She ran smiling down the stairs as if she were an old comrade, and he stood still in the cosey little bath-room with the steam of the nice hot water rising in the white tub, and what seemed like a perfect army of clean, luxurious towels with big embroidered S’s on them, and Turkish wash-rags with blue crocheted edges, and cakes of sweet-smelling soap all calling him to the bath that his aching body so much desired, and yet now was the time when he ought to be going! He must be going!
He glanced back from the door and down the stairs. He could just see an ironing-board beyond the dining-room door, right in the doorway, and the blue suit lying across it, the trousers folded in the most approved manner, and there was her step. She was standing right in the doorway with the iron in her hand, and facing toward the stairs! He could not get away without passing her, at least not by going down the stairs. And well—why not take a bath? He certainly needed it. There would be a way to get away later. And oh, scalloped oysters, and those good things he had seen through the windows! But of course he couldn’t go to that supper! Still, there was the bath all ready, and no telling when he would ever get a chance again.
So he locked the door and began swiftly to take off the alien garments that in the three weeks of his wanderings he had managed to acquire. At least, here was a bath, and why not take the goods the gods provided?